6OS7 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CHINA 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


NEW  POETRY 

By  T.  S.  Eliot 
POEMS 

By  Osbert  Sitwell 

ARGONAUT  AND  JUGGERNAUT 

By   Majorie   Allen   Seiffert 
A  WOMAN  OF  THIRTY 

By  J.  C.  Squire 

POEMS:  FIRST  SERIES 

By  Eunice  Tietjens 

BODY  AND  RAIMENT 
PROFILES  FROM  CHINA 

By  Arthur  JTaley 

170  CHINESE  POEMS 

MORE  TRANSLATIONS  FROM  THE  CHINESE 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CHINA 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


BY 

EDWARD  SHANKS 


NEW  YORK 

ALFRED  -  A  •  KNOPF 

MCMXIX 


COPYRIGHT,  19 It),  BY 
ALFRED  A.  KNOPF,  INC. 


fBJNTED    IN    THE    UNJTKD    STATES    OF    AMERICA 


Libraxjr 
PR 


TO 

NAOMI  ROYDE-SMITH 

THIS  BOOK  IS  AFFECTIONATELY 
AND     GRATEFULLY     DEDICATED 


2081841 


CONTENTS 

THE  COMPLAINTS 

The  Complaints,  i-x,  13 
MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS 

The  Only  Begetter,  21 

Shadows,  22 

Just  That  Half  Hour,  24 

Waste,  25 

The  Return,  i-m,  26 

Song,  28 

The  Debt,  29 

The  fields  are  full,  30 

For  Remembrance,  31 

Continuity,  32 

The  Storm,  33 

A  Night-Piece,  34 

The  Flowering  Trees,  36 

Clouds,  37 

Cold,  38 

On  Holmbury  Hill,  39 

The  Wish,  40 

Mid-Winter,  42 

The  Glow-worm,  43 


Contents 

The  Cataclysm,  44 

In  Absence,  45 

The  Riddle,  46 

The  Singer,  47 

Lady  Godiva,  48 

Searchlights,  49 

Invitation,  50 

Ballad,  51 

The  King's  Dancer,  53 

Postscript  to  a  Satire,  57 

Fete  Galante;     The  Triumph  of  Love,  58 

Who  knows  how  beauty  springs,  67 

The  Wild  Goose  Chase,  68 

Hymn  to  Desire,  70 

A  Dialogue,  75 

Meditation  in  June,  1917,  78 

Elegy,  82 

The  Halt,  84 
THE  FIRELESS  TOWN,  87 
THE  QUEEN  OF  CHINA,  117 


THE  COMPLAINTS 


THE  COMPLAINTS 

To  H.  C.  Harwood 


Well,  I  am  tired  at  last!     I  put  away 

Languor  and  lassitude  and  all  regrets. 

Better,  I  said,  the  dull  but  solid  day 

Than  an  endless  reckoning  of  hopeless  debts, 

Unheard  complaints,  unanswered  prayers,  unseen 

Genuflexions  to  an  unbelieved  in  God. 

But  I  am  not  so  dull  as  I  have  been; 

Too  long  this  long  and  lightless  way  I  have  trod 

And  suddenly  now  I  see  what  thing  I  tread, 

Lit  by  a  transient  flash  of  the  lightning  brain, 

That  leaps  in  the  sky  an  instant  and  is  dead 

But,  having  shown,  needs  not  to  come  again. 

Ridiculous  treadmill!  that  the  sorry  fool 

Thinks  is  the  road  to  joy,  his  brain  is  so  dull. 


[13] 


The  Complaints 


ii 

You,  to  whom  Heaven  gave  all  the  gifts  I  need, 
Money  and  leisure,  long  I  followed  you 
And  made  the  lightest  line  you  wrote  my  creed 
And  gave  you  the  extravagant  praise  I  thought  was  due. 
I'd  sneer  at  you  now,  to  pay  my  less  lucky  case, 
For  sneering  is  easy  from  the  poor  to  the  rich, 
Throw  witty  songs  in  your  cold  and  happy  face 
And  ease  on  your  books  the  beggar's  endless  itch. 
But  still  from  your  heaven  of  unmoved  success, 
You  cast  your  gifts  to  me  for  my  delight, 
You  from  your  wealth  to  me  in  wretchedness, 
And  every  gift  of  yours  in  my  eyes  is  bright. 
Strange  power,  strange  happiness,  strange  poetry! 
That  even  envy  cannot  twist  awry. 

ill 

There  are  many  countries  that  I  have  not  seen, 
And  many  kinds  of  men  I  have  not  met, 
But  all  the  gracious  towns  where  I  have  been 
Haunt  in  my  brain  and  whisper  there  and  set 
Strange  echoes  going  with  their  lovely  names, 
Birdlip  and  Paris,  Fontainebleau  and  Wells, 
Places  that  live  in  me  like  happy  dreams 
And  sound  in  the  present  day  like  distant  bells. 
Here  I  am  set  and  there's  no  end,  no  end; 
Too  soon  the  vision  closes,  too  long  remains, 
Like  the  last  long  talk  one  had  with  a  lost  friend, 
Whose  memory  lingers  on,  when  friendship  wanes. 
Better  to  stay  at  home!     The  towns  one  sees 
Trammel  the  day  with  stupid  memories. 

[14] 


The  Complaints 


IV 

I  was  a  soldier  once.     How  fear  was  then 
Mixed  with  bright  honour  and  delightful  pride ! 
How  different  we  were  from  other  men, 
Who  lived  in  houses  and  in  houses  died ! 
How  huge  the  morning  was,  before  the  sun 
Sullenly  found  us  marching  in  the  mist! 
And  sleep  was  dark  and  deep  when  work  was  done 
And  food  awoke  in  us  a  greedy  zest. 
But  all  that's  over.     I  no  more  shall  see, 
Quick  to  the  word  and  ready  to  my  hand, 
The  smooth  and  easy  moving  company 
Marching  in  column  on  the  heathery  land. 
There's  no  pride  now  and  fear's  the  fear  that's  bred 
Of  money  and  suchlike  maggots  in  the  head. 

V 

THE  EMPTY  HOUSE,  i 

We  walked  all  morning  over  furze  and  grass, 
And  climbed  steep  tufted  heights  against  the  sun, 
Went  down  the  shaven  tracks,  where  rabbits  pass, 
And  unalarmed  the  scuttling  pheasants  run. 
There  were  no  men  in  sight,  save  at  a  farm, 
Where,  far  below,  we  saw,  about  midday, 
Two  ploughmen  lying  lapped  about  with  warm 
Rank  growings  of  the  hedge.     Green  buds  of  may 
Hung  over  them  unopened,  primroses 
Were  yellow  round  their  bodies.     On  we  went, 
Up  a  long  slope  through  tangled  coppices, 
Where  half-fledged  hazels  on  the  pathway  leant, 
Till  suddenly  we  saw  through  thinning  boughs 
The  chimneys  of  an  old  long-lonely  house. 

[15] 


The  Complaints 


VI 

THE  EMPTY  HOUSE,  ij 

The  door  was  gone,  the  jambs  aslant,  awry, 
The  roof  grown  over  with  the  mosses  slow, 
The  windows  stared  with  blank  and  empty  eye, 
Half  the  panes  gone.     The  flagstones  grinned  below 
In  gaping  cracks.     The  foolish  cattle  came 
About  the  orchard,  where  the  unpruned  trees 
Held  to  the  sky  white  boughs  of  trembling  flame, 
And  long  wild  grasses  brushed  about  our  knees. 
The  dumb  house  called  to  us,  the  black,  wide  door 
Stood  open  for  us  long  and  stood  in  vain: 
Sighing  we  guessed  those  old  walls  held  a  store 
Of  rest  for  us  when  we  should  come  again 
Into  the  hollow,  long  and  green  and  still  — 
Then  turned  away  to  cross  the  further  hill. 

VII 

I  sat  once  in  the  curved  arm  of  a  tree 
Over  the  salty  marsh,  above  the  wide 
And  misty  mere,  half  river  and  half  sea, 
Where  faint  low  hills  marked  out  the  further  side. 
Then  time  passed  over  as  I  bade  it  go, 
Fast  when  in  joy  my  hurrying  heart  beat  fast, 
And  when  sweet  rest  inhabited  me,  so  slow 
I  did  not  know  if  a  day  or  an  hour  had  passed. 
Thus  I  retarded  or  advanced  the  day, 
That  subject  and  sweet  minion  of  my  will, 
But  now  with  stubborn  beats  the  hours  go  their  way 
Like  clouds  in  a  steady  wind  and  new  hours  still 
Loom  up  behind  them  and  heavily  go  by 
In  the  same  swift  and  daunting  monotony. 

[16] 


The  Complaints 


VIII 

I  am  sick  of  devices  and  of  policies, 
Of  the  restless  nerves,  of  the  itches,  aches  and  strains, 
And  the  tiresome  long  pursuit  that  balances 
My  sluggish  brain  against  their  stupid  brains. 
Oh,  under  beauty's  whip  I  still  can  run 
And  match  my  pace  against  another's  pace; 
I  only  ask  a  little  air  and  the  sun 
Falling  in  warmth  upon  my  upward  face. 
But  these  dull  rains  of  weather  and  the  mind 
Shut  the  world  from  me  in  a  sombre  veil 
And  memories  of  old  weariness  lie  behind 
And  hours  to  be,  ill-nourished,  clammy,  pale, 
Lie  on  my  forward  journey  and  fill  the  way, 
As  the  dull  day  fades  into  a  new  dull  day. 

IX 

When  in  the  mines  of  dark  and  silent  thought 
Sometimes  I  delve  and  find  strange  fancies  there, 
With  heavy  labour  to  the  surface  brought 
That  lie  and  mock  me  in  the  brighter  air, 
Poor  ores  from  starved  lodes  of  poverty, 
Unfit  for  working  or  to  be  refined, 
That  in  the  darkness  cheat  the  miner's  eye, 
I  turn  away  from  that  base  cave,  the  mind. 
Yet  had  I  but  the  power  to  crush  the  stone 
There  are  strange  metals  hid  in  flakes  therein, 
Each  flake  a  spark  sole-hidden  and  alone, 
That  only  cunning  toilsome  chemists  win. 
All  this  I  know  and  yet  my  chemistry 
Fails  and  the  pregnant  treasures  useless  lie. 

[17] 


The  Complaints 


The  well-made  sonnet  takes  the  azure  sea 
Proud  in  her  beauty  as  a  halcyon, 
Her  timbers  chosen  words,  and  melody 
Filling  her  sails  of  rhyme.     She  passes  on 
In  majesty  and  calm,  but  these  my  lines 
Are  like  a  crazy  and  a  leaky  boat, 
Clumsily  made  of  warped  and  twisted  pines 
That  hardly  on  the  troubled  waters  float. 
Now  comes  an  arrogant  great  wave  ahead 
That  swamps  the  blunted  bow  and  spumes  along; 
Into  the  storm  I  drift  in  doubt  and  dread, 
Patient,  not  brave,  enduring  but  not  strong. 
I  know  not  on  this  huge  and  angry  sea 
How  far  my  wretched  ship  can  carry  me. 


[18] 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS 


THE  ONLY  BEGETTER 

These  are  not  fair,  except  you  walk  with  me, 
These  heathery  paths  upon  the  wind-blown  steep; 

There  could  no  magic  in  the  wild-flowers  be, 

Save  from  your  heart  they  drew  it,  wild  and  deep. 

Round  the  vast  world  I  turn  and  turn  amazed 

Mine  eyes  grown  keener  for  having  looked  on  you 

And  what  in  the  world  has  pleased  me  and  I  have  praised 
Gives  you  through  me  again  the  praises  due. 

And  have  I  other  loves,  what  love  have  they 
Of  mine,  except  what  in  your  love  I  learnt, 

In  whose  eyes  first  I  saw  immortal  day, 

In  whose  arms  first  my  sorrow  to  joy  was  burnt? 

Save  as  you  taught,  I  could  not  see  nor  sing 

And  all  I  sing  is  only  in  your  praise, 
And  you  the  ultimate  spirit  of  every  thing 

That  moves  in  my  heart  and  colours  my  fleeting  days. 


[21] 


SHADOWS 

Under  the  leaves  of  that  tremendous  oak, 
Where  the  low  stars  lie  tangled,  there  is  shade 
Delusive  and  the  leafy  hedges  fade 
Into  the  darkness  like  a  curling  smoke. 

0  in  the  shadow  there, 
Come  with  me,  love,  there  let  us  two  repair 
To  mingle  with  the  darkness  and  be  lost, 
As  somewhere  viewless  ghost  with  viewless  ghost 
May  meet,  caress  and  shiver  with  sweet  pain, 
Invisibly  enamoured.     So  may  we 
Lie  in  each  other's  arms  invisibly 
And  touch  and  see  not,  kiss  and  kiss  again 

With  lips  obscure, 
That  find  their  way  as  ardent  and  as  sure 

In  darkness  as  in  day. 

Come!  there  the  softly  moving  shadows  play 
And  wrap  all  vision  up  for  dim  delight, 
And  soothe  the  straining  eyes  with  oil  of  night, 
That  charms  the  senses,  sends  all  sound  to  sleep 
And  knows  for  its  anointed  how  to  keep 
A  magic  darkness,  an  enchanted  hush, 
Close  in  the  shade  of  the  uncertain  bush. 


[22] 


Shadows 

Still  the  low  stars  shall  waver  overhead 
And  low  clouds  hang  upon  the  mighty  tree, 
A  softer  darkness  on  our  love  to  shed, 
Where  we  embrace  and  kiss  invisibly 

But  tangibly, 

And  keener  still,  all  senses  being  gone, 
Save  only  one  bright  sense  —  save  touch  alone. 


[23] 


JUST  THAT  HALF-HOUR 

Just  that  half -hour  before  you  go  to  sleep, 
Fold  your  tired  hands  together  and  repeat 
All  I  have  said  to  you  of  love  today. 
All  that  you  can  remember,  I  should  say, 
So  many  words  and  yet  not  all  the  same, 
Still  simple  words  and  words  that  leapt  like  flame 
Across  the  narrow  gap  between  our  hearts 
And  brutal  words,  strong,  naked,  stiff  and  stark, 
Because  our  young  love  speaks  in  many  ways. 
.  .  .  We  are  so  young,  we  know  not  what  to  say 
And  yet  the  half-formed,  ill-shaped  words  that  fall 
From  untrained  novice  lips  are  musical 
To  untrained  novice  ears.     If  we  are  young 
And  say  uncertainly  what  men  have  sung 
In  long  dead  years  and  still  we  do  not  know 
All  of  love's  arts,  we'll  be  for  ever  so, 
Untrained,  unskilled,  for  this  is  far  more  sweet 
Than  love  that  treasures  up  and  knows  to  keep 
The  secret  arts  of  loving  and  being  loved. 


[24] 


WASTE 

So  rich  a  treasure  in  yourself  you  bring, 

That  some  is  spilt  and  wasted  on  the  way, 

As  low  clouds,  halting,  on  wild  seas  astray, 

Cheat  the  thick,  thirsty  blossoms  of  the  spring. 

And  some  I  waste.     But  in  our  later  years 

We  shall  remember  how,  too  prodigal, 

We  let  the  precious  drops  of  honey  fall, 

And  pay  for  them  at  last  with  useless  tears. 

Ah,  waste,  waste,  waste!     However  much  there  is, 

There's  not  too  much  for  bare  and  mortal  days, 

That  now,  receding  in  youth's  golden  haze, 

Seem  dim  but  ever  full  eternities. 

But  there's  an  end!     Take  heed,  lest  you  and  I 

Have  wasted  wealth  to  think  on  when  we  die. 


[25] 


THE  RETURN 

i 

Now  into  hearts  long  empty  of  the  sun 
The  morning  comes  again  with  golden  light 
And  all  the  shades  of  the  half -dusk  are  done 
And  all  the  crevices  are  suddenly  bright. 
So  gradually  had  love  lain  down  to  sleep, 
We  knew  it  not;  but  when  we  saw  his  head 
Pillowed  and  sunken  in  a  trance  so  deep 
We  whispered  shuddering  that  he  was  dead. 
Then  you  like  Psyche  took  the  light  and  leant 
Over  the  monster  lying  in  his  place, 
Daring,  despairing,  trembling  as  you  bent  .  .  . 
But  love  raised  up  his  new-awakening  face 
And  into  our  hearts  long  empty  of  the  sun 
We  felt  the  sky-distilled  bright  liquor  run. 


[26] 


The  Return 

ii 

When  love  comes  back  that  went  in  mist  and  cloud 
He  comes  triumphant  in  his  pomp  and  power; 
Voices  that  muttered  long  are  glad  and  loud 
To  mark  the  sweetness  of  the  sudden  hour. 
How  could  we  live  so  long  in  that  half-light? 
That  opiate  shadow,  where  the  deadened  nerves 
So  soon  forget  how  hills  and  winds  are  bright, 
That  drugged  and  sleepy  dusk,  that  only  serves 
With  false  shades  to  conceal  the  emptiness 
Of  hearts  whence  love  has  stolen  unawares, 
Where  creeping  doubts  and  dumb,  dull  sorrows  press 
And  weariness  with  blind  eyes  gapes  and  stares. 
This  was  our  state,  but  now  a  happy  song 
Rings  through  our  inner  sunlight  all  day  long. 

ill 

When  that  I  lay  in  a  mute  agony, 
I  nothing  saw  nor  heard  nor  felt  nor  thought; 
The  inner  self,  the  quintessential  me, 
In  that  blind  hour  beyond  all  sense  was  brought 
Hard  against  pain.     I  had  no  body,  no  mind, 
Nought  but  the  point  that  suffers  joy  or  loss, 
No  eyes  in  sudden  blackness  to  be  blind, 
No  brain  for  swift  regrets  to  run  across. 
But  when  you  touched  me,  when  your  hot  tears  fell, 
The  point  that  had  been  nothing  else  but  pain 
Changed  into  rapture  by  a  miracle, 
In  which  all  raptures  known  before  were  vain. 
Thus  loss  which  bared  the  utmost  shivering  nerve 
For  joy's  precursor  in  the  heart  did  serve. 
[27] 


SONG 

As  I  lay  in  the  early  sun, 

Stretched  in  the  grass,  I  thought  upon 

My  true  love,  my  dear  love, 

Who  has  my  heart  for  ever, 

Who  is  my  happiness  when  we  meet, 

My  sorrow  when  we  sever. 

She  is  all  fire  when  I  do  burn, 

Gentle  when  I  moody  turn, 

Brave  when  I  am  sad  and  heavy 

And  all  laughter  when  I  am  merry. 

And  so  I  lay  and  dreamed  and  dreamed, 

And  so  the  day  wheeled  on, 

While  all  the  birds  with  thoughts  like  mine 

Were  singing  to  the  sun. 


[28] 


THE  DEBT 

When  I  am  dead  and  you  gather  up  my  poems, 

Put  them  all  in,  all  those  that  speak  of  you, 
Those  that  glanced  at  you  in  sundry  disguises, 

Ariadne,  Daphne  and  the  nameless  nymph, 
The  flower-bright  queen  who  ruled  a  king  in  China, 

And  the  country-girl  that  early  lost  her  Jove. 
Bind  up  with  them  the  frank  and  honest  sonnets, 

The  open  songs,  the  unashamed  odes, 
That  spoke  straight  to  you  and  told  that  I  loved  you, 

Described  your  beauty  or  called  you  by  name. 
These  are  not  ours;  for  what  I  took  of  beauty 

Belongs  to  our  fellows  for  whom  I  write. 
The  traces  I  have  left  on  hill-top  and  valley 

Were  made  of  the  world  and  belong  to  the  world; 
But  more  than  half  of  the  loveliness  I  captured 

Was  yours  at  first  and  now  is  the  world's. 
Our  first  hidden  kisses  and  unskilled  embraces 

And  the  fierier  love  whereto  we  attained 
Are  lines  on  the  chart  whereby  dreaming  lovers 

Shall  steer  their  hearts  till  the  end  of  the  world. 
When  we  are  dead  and  our  ashes  are  scattered, 

Let  them  say  of  us:     She  was  and  he  wrote. 


[29] 


THE  FIELDS  ARE  FULL 

The  fields  are  full  of  summer  still 

And  breathe  again  upon  the  air 
From  brown  dry  side  of  hedge  and  hill 

More  sweetness  than  the  sense  can  bear. 

So  some  old  couple,  who  in  youth 
With  love  were  filled  and  over-full, 

And  loved  with  strength  and  loved  with  truth, 
In  keavy  age  are  beautiful. 


[30] 


FOR  REMEMBRANCE 

Let  us  remember  how  we  came 

To  Fletching  in  the  trees, 
Where  stood  the  high  and  misty  down 

Between  us  and  the  seas. 

Let  us  remember  how  we  crossed 

Ouse,  Adur,  Arun,  three 
Slight  rivers  rolling  in  their  broad 

Green  valleys  to  the  sea. 

Let  us  remember  most  of  all 

When  this  bright  air  no  more 
We  breathe,  what  young  and  morning  oaths 

On  the  high  hills  we  swore. 


[31] 


CONTINUITY 

Long  after  we  have  ceased  to  be 
The  sun  will  light  in  bush  and  tree 
And  shine  unchanged;  the  high  turf  hill 
Shall  stand  up  in  beauty  still; 
And  all  the  valleys  that  we  knew 
Put  on  again  the  summer's  hue, 
When  we  are  gone,  when  we  are  gone, 
And  are  what  green  things  feed  upon. 


[32] 


THE  STORM 

We  wake  to  hear  the  storm  come  down, 

Sudden  on  roof  and  pane; 
The  thunder's  loud  and  the  hasty  wind 

Hurries  the  beating  rain. 

The  rain  slackens,  the  wind  blows  gently, 
The  gust  grows  gentle  and  stills, 

And  the  thunder,  like  a  breaking  stick, 
Stumbles  about  the  hills. 

The  drops  still  hang  on  leaf  and  thorn, 
The  downs  stand  up  more  green; 

The  sun  comes  out  again  in  power 
And  the  sky  is  washed  and  clean. 


[33] 


A  NIGHT-PIECE 


To  Arthur  Geddes 


Come  out  and  walk.     The  last  few  drops  of  light 
Drain  silently  out  of  the  cloudy  blue; 
The  trees  are  full  of  the  dark-stooping  night, 
The  fields  are  wet  with  dew. 


All's  quiet  in  the  wood  but,  far  away, 
Down  the  hillside  and  out  across  the  plain, 
Moves,  with  long  trail  of  white  that  marks  its  way, 
The  softly  panting  train. 

Come  through  the  clearing.     Hardly  now  we  see 
The  flowers,  save  dark  or  light  against  the  grass, 
Or  glimmering  silver  on  a  scented  tree 
That  trembles  as  we  pass. 

Hark  now!     So  far,  so  far  .  .  .  that  distant  song 
Move  not  the  rustling  grasses  with  your  feet. 
The  dusk  is  full  of  sounds,  that  all  along 
The  muttering  boughs  repeat. 
[34] 


A  Night-Piece 

So  far,  so  faint,  we  lift  our  heads  in  doubt. 
Wind,  or  the  blood  that  beats  within  our  ears, 
Has  feigned  a  dubious  and  delusive  note, 
Such  as  a  dreamer  hears. 

Again  .  .  .  again!     The  faint  sounds  rise  and  fail. 
So  far  the  enchanted  tree,  the  song  so  low  .  .  . 
A  drowsy  thrush?     A  waking  nightingale? 
Silence.     We  do  not  know. 


[35] 


THE  FLOWERING  TREES 

The  wandering  year  from  day  to  day  discloses 
First  lenten  lilies,  then  midsummer  roses, 
And  ends  at  last  in  sombre  fantasy, 
About  the  season  of  the  stripping  tree, 
With  asters  and  dark  daisies  and  the  strange 
Chrysanthemums.     And  so  from  change  to  change 
The  shimmering  months  proceed  in  shifting  dresses 
And  strew  the  meadows  and  the  wildernesses, 
For  there  in  grass  the  daffodils  are  born 
And  the  wild  rose-buds  hanging  on  the  thorn. 
All  these  are  good,  but  this  perplexes  me, 
That  blossom  holds  not  longer  on  the  tree, 
For  in  the  morning  the  tall  pear  stands  white 
With  fragile  petals  that  are  shed  at  night, 
And  the  apple  wears  her  trembling  sweet  array 
For  hardly  longer  than  a  short  spring  day. 
Would  they  might  further  live  or  would  that  I 
Might  see  three  springs  without  a  break  go  by! 


[36] 


CLOUDS 

Over  this  hill  the  high  clouds  float  all  day 

And  trail  their  long,  soft  shadows  on  the  grass, 

And  now  above  the  meadows  make  delay 

And  now  with  regular,  swift  motion  pass. 

Now  comes  a  threatening  drift  from  the  south-west, 

In  smoky  colours  drest, 

That  spills  far  out  upon  the  chequered  plain 

Its  burden  of  dark  rain; 

Then  hard  behind  a  stately  galleon 

Sails  onward  with  its  piled  and  carven  towers 

Stiff  sculptured  like  a  heap  of  marble  flowers, 

Rigid,  unaltering,  a  miracle 

Of  moulded  surfaces,  whereon  the  light 

Shines  steadily,  intolerably  bright; 

Now  on  a  livelier  wind  a  wandering  bell 

Of  delicate  vapour  comes,  invisibly  hung, 

Like  feathers  from  the  seeding  thistle  flung, 

And  saunters  wantonly  far  out  of  sight. 

O  God,  who  fill'st  with  shifting  imagery 

The  blue  page  of  the  sky, 

Thus  writ'st  thou  also,  with  as  vague  a  pen, 

In  the  immenser  hearts  of  dreaming  men. 


[37] 


COLD 

The  hard  snow  lies  upon  the  hard  round  hills; 

Unbroken  silence  fills 

The  empty  valleys,  and  the  unmoving  air 

Is  thickened  by  the  cold.     The  northward  plain 

Under  a  haze  lies  bleak  and  brown  and  bare, 

Untouched  by  snow,  and  at  its  westerly  rim 

Loom  dark  and  dim 

The  Malverns  on  the  mist  like  a  huge  stain. 

Turn,  turn  again 

From  that  wet  country  to  the  snowy  hills, 

Where  coldly  in  its  silence  the  frost  fills 

The  deep  and  rounded  valleys  with  a  fine 

Jewel  of  air  made  crystalline. 

The  cold  has  frozen  the  air,  the  air's  a  gem, 

Bright  as  a  diamond  filled  with  frozen  light, 

From  the  hill-tops  down  to  the  plain's  wet  hem, 

Hard,  yet  clear  to  the  sight. 

Move  not  —  we  cannot  move,  we  are  prisoners, 

Like  that  old  traveller  whom  a  later  found 

Within  a  shining  ice-block  straitly  bound, 

Staring  immovably  two  hundred  years 

Across  the  waste,  white  ground. 


[38] 


ON  HOLMBURY  HILL 

The  narrow  paths  branch  every  way  up  here 
And  cross  and  tangle  and  are  nowhere  clear 
And  the  empty  sky,  swept  clean  by  a  rainy  breath, 
Smiles  on  our  tortuous  scrambling  underneath. 
But  here's  the  top,  for  round  a  sudden  bend 
We  stumble  breathless  on  the  unlocked  for  end 
And  stare  across  the  misty  weald.     Below 
The  lonely  trains  through  the  wide  country  go, 
Each  with  its  plume  of  steam.     And  westward,  see, 
Past  the  far  shoulder  streams  tumultuously 
A  black  and  driven  storm  across  the  air 
And  casts  about  the  downs  its  troubled  hair. 
Thick  at  the  middle,  at  the  edges  thinned, 
Heeling  over  like  a  ship  before  the  wind, 
It  eats  the  weald  up  with  a  greedy  mouth. 
Still,  twenty  miles  or  further  to  the  south, 
Dimly  and  grandly  Chanctonbury  stands 
A  moment  clear  above  the  blotted  lands. 
It's  gone.     But  still  the  blue  and  empty  sky 
Smiles  on  over  our  heads  unwittingly. 


[39] 


THE  WISH 

Would  that  I  were  away  now 

From  the  iron  streets  and  the  steel  sky, 
For  filthy  are  these  streets  in  rain 

And  hard  and  dusty  dry. 
Harshly  the  'buses  clang  their  way, 

The  people  are  ugly  that  go  by; 
They  hurry  and  their  mouths  are  hard 

And  they  are  hard  of  heart  and  eye. 

I  stand  on  the  station  every  day 

To  catch  the  crowded,  swaying  train 
But  if  I  only  look  down  the  line 

I  turn  away  in  sudden  pain, 
For  an  elm  stands  at  the  curve  of  the  rail 

That  beckons  me  out,  out  again, 
Whether  its  leaves  flash  in  the  sun 

Or  the  bare  boughs  drip  with  rain. 


[40] 


The  Wish 

The  frost  has  my  small  town  now 

And  the  street  is  iron  there  too, 
For  it  stands  in  a  high  cup  of  the  hills, 

Right  in  the  north  wind's  view; 
But  the  steel  sky  is  beautiful  there 

And  the  people  that  hurry  there  are  few 
And  the  bare  hedges  that  catch  the  sun 

Tremble  with  frosty  dew. 

Though  it  be  cold,  I  wish  I  were  there 

To  see  slow  winter  move 
And  the  elms  growing  green  again 

And  the  blackthorn  that  I  love. 
Though  spring's  late  there,  it  comes  at  last 

In  the  meadow  and  the  thin  beech-grove, 
And  happy  I  might  lie  there  in  May 

With  a  long  green  bough  above. 


[41] 


MID-WINTER 

Winter  hems  us  round; 

A  powder  of  dry  snow  lies  lightly  on  the  ground; 

The  cold  stings  our  flesh  and  our  hearts,  perhaps,  as  well; 

Every  faintest  sound 

Jars  the  quiet  air  like  a  harshly  shaken  bell. 

The  turning  of  the  year 

Was  done  a  week  ago,  yet  no  light  doth  appear 

And  still  the  long  nights  eat  the  comfort-giving  day. 

Warmth  draws  not  near; 

Not  long  enough  to  hearten  us  the  sun  doth  stay. 

Gentle,  gentle  sun, 

Be  our  friend  as  of  old  for  one  day,  only  one. 

Breathe  deceitful  life  into  us  and  everything, 

Before  happiness  is  done, 

The  happiness  we  need  for  the  long  months  till  spring. 


[42] 


THE  GLOW-WORM 

To  Sylvia  and  Robert  Lynd 

The  pale  road  winds  faintly  upward  into  the  dark  skies, 
And  beside  it  on  the  rough  grass  that  the  wind  invisibly  stirs, 
Sheltered  by  sharp-speared  gorse  and  the  berried  junipers, 
Shining  steadily  with  a  green  light,  the  glow-worm  lies. 

We  regard  it;  and  this  hill  and  all  the  other  hills 
That  fall  in  folds  to  the  river,  very  smooth  and  steep, 
And  the  hangers  and  brakes  that  the  darkness  thickly  fills 
Fade  like  phantoms  round  the  light  and  night  is  deep,  so 
deep, — 

That  all  the  world  is  emptiness  about  the  still  flame 
And  we  are  small  shadows  standing  lost  in  the  huge  night. 
We  gather  up  the  glow-worm,  stooping  with  dazzled  sight, 
And  carry  it  to  the  little  enclosed  garden  whence  we  came, 

And  place  it  on  the  short  grass.     Then  the  shadowy  flowers 

fade, 

The  walls  waver  and  melt  and  the  houses  disappear 
And  the  solid  town  trembles  into  insubstantial  shade 
Round  the  light  of  the  burning  glow-worm,  steady  and  clear. 


[43] 


THE  CATACLYSM 

When  a  great  wave  disturbs  the  ocean  cold 
And  throws  the  bottom  waters  to  the  sky, 
Strange  apparitions  on  the  surface  lie, 

Great  battered  ships,  stripped  of  their  gloss  and  gold, 

And,  writhing  in  their  pain,  sea-monsters  old, 
Who  stain  the  waters  with  a  bloody  dye, 
With  unaccustomed  mouths  bellow  and  cry 

And  vex  the  waves  with  struggling  fin  and  fold. 

And  with  these  too  come  little  trivial  things 

Tossed  from  the  deeps  by  the  same  casual  hand; 
A  faint  sea  flower,  dragged  from  the  lowest  sand, 
That  will  not  undulate  its  luminous  wings 
In  the  slow  tides  again,  lies  dead  and  swings 
Along  the  muddy  ripples  to  the  land. 


[44] 


IN  ABSENCE 

My  lovely  one,  be  near  to  me  tonight 

For  now  I  need  you  most,  since  I  have  gone 

Through  the  sparse  woodland  in  the  fading  light, 

Where  in  time  past  we  two  have  walked  alone, 

Heard  the  loud  nightjar  spin  his  pleasant  note 

And  seen  the  wild  rose  folded  up  for  sleep 

And  whispered,  though  the  soft  word  choked  my  throat, 

Your  dear  name  out  across  the  valley  deep. 

Be  near  to  me,  for  now  I  need  you  most. 

Tonight  I  saw  an  unsubstantial  flame 

Flickering  along  those  shadowy  paths,  a  ghost 

That  turned  to  me  and  answered  to  your  name, 

Mocking  me  with  a  wraith  of  far  delight. 

...  My  lovely  one,  be  near  to  me  tonight. 


[45] 


THE  RIDDLE 

I  dream  the  marriage  of  the  visible 

With  the  unseen  the  solving  of  all  skeins; 

I  dream  that  in  my  verse  I  read  the  spell, 

The  last  answer  to  the  world's  delights  and  pains, 

The  gleaming  leaves  of  beeches,  the  shade  thrown 

By  wavering  ripples  on  the  stream-worn  stone, 

The  glowing  green  of  the  young  wheat,  the  cries 

Of  birds,  the  lapsing  sighs 
Of  spring's  warm  airs  in  lucent  hedge  and  tree, 
All  these  and  with  these  too  the  discontent 
Of  life's  frustration  and  the  vanity 
Of  happiness  too  casually  spent  — 

All  these  I  contemplate 
And  would  the  seeming  with  the  real  fuse, 
The  lordly  vesture  with  the  spirit  mate, 
And  publish  in  great  verse  the  immortal  news. 
Still  the  dream  fades;  and  closer  home  doth  dwell, 
Living  with  me,  whether  I  sleep  or  wake, 
What  neither  here  nor  there  my  hand  can  take; 
Hidden  in  love  lies  the  unriddled  spell, 
Nearest  the  heart  and  there  least  scrutable. 


[46] 


THE  SINGER 

In  the  dim  light  of  the  golden  lamp 

The  singer  stands  and  sings, 
And  the  songs  rise  up  like  coloured  bubbles 

Or  birds  with  shining  wings. 

And  the  movement  of  the  merry  or  plaintive  keys 

Sounds  in  the  silent  air 
Till  the  listener  feels  the  room  no  more 

But  only  music  there. 

And  still  from  the  sweet  and  rounded  mouth 

The  delicate  songs  arise, 
Like  floating  bubbles  whose  colours  are 

The  coloured  melodies. 


[47] 


LADY  GODIVA 

(A  third  version.) 

If  the  truth  were  but  known,  when  she  came  at  last 
To  the  bower's  low  door  and  the  journey  was  past, 
Godiva  slid  from  her  palfrey  and  said: 
Only  one  with  a  curious  eye  in  his  head? 

For  why  had  she  gone  with  not  even  a  shift 

Through  the  still  grey  streets,  where  her  hair's  gold  drift 

On  shoulder  and  breast  and  side  made  one 

With  the  bright  veil  cast  on  her  by  the  sun? 

0  surely  it  had  been  braver,  and  sweet, 

To  have  lavished  her  beauty  along  the  street, 

To  have  ridden  in  the  eyes  and  the  smiles  of  the  crowd 

And  to  have  heard  their  praises,  muttered  or  loud. 

For  else  her  ride  was  only  a  ride, 
Nothing  done,  nothing  given,  nothing  beside, 
No  shame,  no  sacrifice  made,  no  pain, 
But  a  fresh,  cool  journey  and  home  again. 

She  frowned  as  she  stood  up  bare  in  her  bower, 
White  as  a  pearl  and  fresh  as  a  flower, 
Then  smiled  as  she  thought  that  there  had  been  one 
And  that  Peeping  Tom  was  better  than  none. 

[48] 


SEARCHLIGHTS 
(In  the  manner  of  Paul  Fort.) 

0  searchlights,  pierce  the  night  with  swords  and  drive 
the  stars  in  ruin  thence;  the  moon  in  cold  indifference  looks 
down  upon  your  leaping  hordes. 

Storm  the  old  ramparts  of  the  sky  and  shake  the  planets 
all  awry,  pull,  if  you  can,  the  young  moon  down  upon  the 
house-tops  of  the  town. 

The  rosy  sky  adrowsing  lay  but  now  the  night's  alive 
with  fire,  new  pulses  in  the  veins  of  night,  quick  phantoms 
of  a  fiercer  fire. 

Then  fly,  bright  clouds,  across  the  air  and  meet  and 
interchange  and  merge  and  flood  the  sky  with  flame,  sub- 
merge the  planets  in  your  ghostly  glare. 

O  not  with  swords  you  now  invade  the  ancient  kingdom 
of  the  stars  but  armed  with  soft  and  fluent  blades  you  break 
black  heaven's  tremendous  bars 

and  seize  those  pale  and  stately  lights  that  move  and 
move  invisibly  and  whirl  them  up  and  down  the  sky,  your 
followers,  your  satellites! 

And  while  across  the  night  you  fling  your  blue  and 
brilliant  garlanding,  even  the  cold,  indifferent  moon  moves 
gaily  to  a  soundless  tune; 

and  all  the  shades  that  used  to  lie  still  in  the  silent  streets 
and  sleep,  rise  up  and  move  fantastically  in  time  with  you 
and  leap  and  leap ! 

[49] 


INVITATION 

0  girl  with  honey-coloured  hair, 

And  will  you  come  and  dance  with  me? 

The  night  is  dark  but  you  can  spare 
Light  from  your  eyes  for  both  to  see, 

And  in  the  shade  of  trees  divine 

Like  a  whirled  torch  your  hair  will  shine. 

So  dance  apart  and  dance  away; 

The  rest  about  the  lanterns  gather, 
But  there  is  light  for  two  to  play 

In  any  place  where  we're  together, 
And  there  is  soft  long  grass  and  shadow 
Beneath  the  rick  across  the  meadow. 

For  love  in  darkness  is  at  ease 
And  likes  no  candle  save  the  light 

Of  kindled  eyes  and  glowing  tress 
And  bodies  luminous  with  delight. 

The  rest  about  the  candles  stay: 

0  dance  away!     0  come  away! 


[50] 


BALLAD 

HE 

Oh,  where  are  you,  my  own  true  love, 
And  why  are  you  not  here? 

The  nightingale  amid  the  boughs 
Is  flattering  his  dear. 

The  night  among  the  empty  fields 

Lies  like  a  child  at  rest, 
But  empty,  empty  are  my  arms 

And  light,  too  light  my  breast. 


SHE 

If  you  had  known  what  I  have  known, 
The  harsh  word  and  the  blow, 

The  sour  meal  and  the  heavy  task, 
You  would  not  chide  me  so. 

0,  I  go  on  through  all  the  day, 

And  only  hope  at  night, 
That  I  may  slip  out  silently 

Without  a  sup  or  bite, 

[51] 


Ballad 

That  I  may  find  you  in  the  dark, 

Wherein  you  will  not  see 
The  angry  red  that  rims  my  eyes 

And  burns  them  bitterly. 

You  have  not  felt  what  I  have  felt; 

This  only  have  you  known 
That  it  is  sweet  to  walk  with  me 

In  the  dark  fields  alone. 

You  only  hear  me  speak  of  love 

And  you  have  never  heard 
My  father's  thin  and  grumbling  voice, 

My  mother's  heavy  word. 

Yet,  ah,  the  most  I  know  of  you 

Is  nothing  more  than  this 
That  when  the  painful  day  is  done 

Your  lips  are  good  to  kiss. 


[52] 


THE  KING'S  DANCER 

It  was  the  king  of  the  East,  they  say,  who  bought 

A  slave-girl  in  the  market  of  Baghdad. 

The  merchants  brought  her  thither,  travelling 

A  long  way  southward,  from  the  wrinkled  hills 

Of  Georgia  and  sold  her  for  a  price. 

It  was  the  king  who  saw  her,  as  he  passed 

At  midday  through  the  hot  and  narrow  streets, 

And  asked  what  sum  they  set  on  her.     They  told  him. 

He  bade  his  purse-bearer  count  out  the  coins 

And  bring  her  home.     But  when  he  saw  her  first 

Among  the  fountains  and  the  misty  leaves 

In  the  cool  garden  of  his  golden  house, 

He  loved  her. 

She  would  dance  for  his  delight 
And  when  she  entertained  him  thus,  he  stared, 
Stupid  with  pleasure.     She  was  young  and  nimble, 
With  subtly  moving  wrists  of  ivory 
And  ankles  finer  and  stronger  than  graven  steel. 
She  was  the  blossoming  bough  that  stirs  in  spring, 
The  pearl-white  clouds  that  drift  across  blue  heaven, 
The  rainbowed  wave  that  dies  in  colour  on 
A  sunny  shore,  the  wheeling  flight  of  birds 

[53] 


The  King's  Dancer 


Hardly  descried  against  a  dusky  wood, 

The  arrowy  darting  fish  in  quiet  brooks; 

All  the  earth's  myriad  movements  lay  in  her. 

The  king  sat  in  his  jewelled  seat  and  saw 

With  deep,  fixed  eyes  her  motions  flash  and  blend 

In  convolutions  of  the  astounding  dance, 

And  ever  when  she  paused  he  signed  her  on, 

Silently  staring. 

She  danced  all  through  the  night, 
Now  in  slow  measure  mimed  the  rising  moon, 
And  now  in  a  frenzy  of  light  and  hurrying  steps 
The  scattered  and  stricken  clouds  that  fly  in  shreds 
Across  the  face  of  the  moon  and  are  lost  in  night 
And  die  in  bitter  space  for  love  of  the  moon. 
Still  with  his  grave  deep  eyes  the  king  applauded, 
Silently  nodding,  and  when  she  paused  for  rest, 
He  raised  his  great  arm  up  and  with  hairy  fingers 
Urged  her  to  dancing.     Dark  lines  beneath  her  eyes 
And  sharp  lines  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth 
Grew  as  night  grew  and  weariness  invaded 
Even  her  limbs  of  pearl  and  steel.     She  wept 
Small  and  infrequent  tears  of  pain,  hard  wrung 
From  a  brave  heart  and  body.     Still  she  danced 
And  when  dawn  shot  his  blood-red  flames  across 
The  shimmering  fountains  and  drowned  the  garden  in  gold, 
She  sank  in  a  last,  triumphant  attitude, 
Her  bosom  open  to  the  rising  sun. 

So  the  king  loved  her  and  he  built  for  her 
A  bright  pavilion  hidden  in  high  trees 

[54] 


The  King's  Dancer 


And  there  at  night  he  came  to  visit  her, 

Without  his  retinue.     Two  Nubian  soldiers 

Alone  attended  him  to  ward  away 

The  attempts  of  the  wicked  and  remained  on  guard 

While  he  was  in.     So  when  his  pleasure  bade, 

He  came  to  her  and  watched  her  maddening  dance 

Or  took  her  on  his  knees  and  fondled  her 

And  praised  her  lovely  body  of  pearl  and  steel 

With  silent  glances  and  silent  straying  hands, 

Her  body  that  was,  so  often  as  she  danced, 

A  flickering  flame,  an  insubstantial  wreath 

Of  linked  movements. 


But  he  came  one  night 

Through  the  black  shadows  of  the  mighty  trees, 
Black  and  immense  beneath  the  risen  moon, 
Unseen,  unheard.     The  negroes  crept  behind, 
Blotted  in  shade.     He  picked  his  way  to  the  gate 
And  through  the  filigree  of  coiled  gold 
He  saw  her  little  garden  full  of  light, 
Wherein  she  danced  alone  and  not  for  him, 
But  with  her  moonwhite  arms  to  the  risen  moon 
She  offered  her  beauty  and  her  sacred  steps. 
An  hour  he  stood  unmoving;  an  hour  she  moved 
In  measures  of  unbelievable  loveliness, 
A  phantasy  of  night,  the  essential  wraith 
Of  the  moon,  as  though  the  light  that  filled  the  place 
Were  thicker  at  the  centre  and  there  took 
A  bodily  shape  and  grew  to  be  a  woman, 
That  danced  and  danced  for  silence  and  the  moon. 

[55] 


The  King's  Dancer 


But  when  the  light  was  gone,  he  turned  away 
And  sought  his  negroes  in  the  deeper  shadow. 
They  came  to  him,  darkness  in  darkness  disguised; 
He  drew  them  close  and  spoke  in  a  low  still  voice, 
And,  pointing  with  his  hand  to  the  pavilion, 
Commanded:     Let  the  woman's  ankles  be  broken. 


[56] 


POSTSCRIPT  TO  A  SATIRE  ON  MODERN  ENGLISH 
POETRY 

Brooke's  dead  and  Flecker;  almost  with  them  died 

Our  new-born  poetry  in  all  her  pride 

And  one  in  Scyros  sleeps  and  one  at  home, 

Brothers  dissevered  by  the  careless  foam. 

Their  youth  bore  blossoms;  but  an  unnatural  frost 

Gave  to  them  youth  for  ever  at  the  cost 

That  neither  should  bear  fruit  nor  ripen  on 

To  fertile  age  beneath  a  kindlier  sun. 

Two  yet  we  have;  Hodgson  and  De  la  Mare 

In  that  dark  year  relenting  death  did  spare, 

Sick  of  his  work.     Our  poetry  survives 

And  bears  new  fruit  in  those  most  happy  lives. 

Then  let  us  cherish ;  and,  loving  them,  let  us  learn 

To  leave  our  railing  and  with  new  songs  to  burn. 


[57] 


FETE  GALANTE;  THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LOVE 

Aristonoe,  the  fading  shepherdess, 

Gathers  the  young  girls  round  her  in  a  ring, 

Teaching  them  wisdom  of  love, 

What  to  say,  how  to  dress, 

How  frown,  how  smile, 

How  suitors  to  their  dancing  feet  to  bring, 

How  in  mere  walking  to  beguile, 

What  words  cunningly  said  in  what  a  way 

Will  draw  man's  busy  fancy  astray, 

All  the  alphabet,  grammar  and  syntax  of  love. 

The  garden  smells  are  sweet, 

Daisies  spring  in  the  turf  under  the  high-heeled  feet, 
Dense,  dark  banks  of  laurel  grow 
Behind  the  wavering  row 

Of  golden,  flaxen,  black,  brown,  auburn  heads, 
Behind  the  light  and  shimmering  dresses 
Of  these  unreal,  modern  shepherdesses; 
And  gaudy  flowers  in  formal  patterned  beds 
Vary  the  dim  long  vistas  of  the  park, 
Far  as  the  eye  can  see, 

Till  at  the  forest's  edge  the  ground  grows  dark 
And  the  flowers  vanish  in  the  obscurity. 

[58] 


Fete  Galante 


The  young  girls  gather  round  her, 

Remembering  eagerly  how  their  fathers  found  her 

Fresh  as  a  spring-like  wind  in  February, 

Subtler  in  her  moving  heart  than  sun-motes  that  vary 

At  every  waft  of  an  opening  and  shutting  door; 

They  gather  chattering  near, 

Hush,  break  out  in  laughter,  whisper  aside, 

Grow  silent  more  and  more, 

Though  she  will  never  chide. 

Now  through  the  silence  sounds  her  voice  still  clear, 

And  all  give  ear. 

Like  a  silver  thread  through  the  golden  afternoon, 

Equably  the  voice  discloses 

All  that  age-old  wisdom;  like  an  endless  tune 

Aristonoe's  voice  wavers  among  the  roses, 

Level  and  unimpassioned, 

Telling  them  how  of  nothing  love  is  fashioned, 

How  it  is  but  a  movement  of  the  mind, 

Bidding  Celia  mark 

That  light  skirts  fluttering  in  the  wind 

Or  white  flowers  stuck  in  dark, 

Glistening  hair  have  fired  the  dull  beholder 

Or  telling  Anais 

That  faint  indifference  ere  now  hath  bred  a  kiss 

Denied  to  flaunted  snowy  breast  or  shoulder. 

The  girls  attend, 
Each  thinking  on  her  friend, 
Whether  he  be  real  or  imaginary, 
Whether  he  be  loving  or  cold, 

[59] 


Fete  Galante 


For  each  ere  she  grows  old 

Means  to  pursue  her  joy  and  the  whole  unwary 

Troop  of  their  wishes  has  this  wild  quarry  in  cry, 

That  draws  them  ineluctably, 

More  and  more  as  the  summer  slippeth  by. 

And  Celia  leans  aside 

To  contemplate  her  black-silked  ankle  on  the  grass; 

In  remote  dreaming  pride, 

Rosalind  recalls  the  image  in  her  glass. 

Phillis  through  all  her  body  feels 

How  divine  energy  steals, 

Quiescent  power  and  resting  speed, 

Stretches  her  arms  out,  feels  the  warm  blood  run 

Ready  for  pursuit,  for  strife  and  deed, 

And  turns  her  glowing  face  up  to  the  sun. 

Phillida  smiles 

And  lazily  trusts  her  lazy  wit, 

A  slow  arrow  that  hath  often  hit; 

Chloe,  bemused  by  many  subtle  wiles, 

Grows  not  more  dangerous  for  all  of  it. 

But  opens  her  red  lips,  yawning  drowsily, 

And  shows  her  small  white  teeth, 

Dimpling  the  round  chin  beneath, 

And  stretches,  moving  her  young  body  deliciously. 

| 

And  still  the  lesson  goes  on, 
For  this  is  an  old  story  that  is  never  done 
And  now  the  precept  is  of  ribbon  and  shoe, 
What  with  linens  and  silks  love  finds  to  do 
And  how  man's  heart  is  tangled  in  a  string 

[60] 


Fete  Galante 


Or  taken  in  gauze  like  a  weak  and  helpless  thing. 

Chloe  falls  asleep;  and  the  long  summer  day 

Drifts  slowly  past  the  girls  and  the  warm  roses, 

Giving  in  dreams  its  hours  away. 

Now  Stella  throws  her  head  back  and  Phillis  disposes 

Her  strong  brown  hands  quietly  in  her  lap 

And  Rose's  slender  feet  grow  restless  and  tap 

The  turf  to  an  imaginary  tune. 

Now  all  this  grace  of  youthful  bodies  and  faces 

Is  wrought  to  a  glow  by  the  golden  weather  of  June; 

Now,  Love,  completing  grace  of  all  the  graces, 

Strong  in  these  hearts  thy  pure  streams  rise, 

Transmuting  what  they  learn  by  heavenly  alchemies. 

Swift  from  the  listeners  the  spell  vanishes, 

And  through  the  tinkling,  empty  words, 

True  thoughts  of  true  love  press, 

Flying  and  wheeling  nearer, 

As  through  a  sunny  sky  a  flock  of  birds 

Against  the  throbbing  blue  grows  clearer  and  clearer, 

So  closer  come  these  thoughts  and  dearer. 

Helen  rises  with  a  laugh; 
Chloe  wakes; 

All  the  enchantment  scatters  off  like  chaff, 
The  cord  is  loosened  and  the  spell  breaks. 
Rosalind 

Resolves  that  tonight  she  will  be  kind  to  her  lover, 
Unreflecting,  warm  and  kind. 
Celia  tells  the  lessons  over, 
Counting  on  her  fingers  —  one  and  two.  .  .  . 

[61] 


Fete  Galante 


Ribbon  and  shoe, 

Skirts,  flowers,  song,  dancing,  laughter,  eyes.  .  . 

Through  the  whole  catalogue  of  formal  gallantry 

And  studious  coquetries, 

Counting  to  herself  maliciously. 


But  the  old,  the  fading  shepherdess,  Aristonoe, 

Rises  stiffly  and  walks  alone 

Down  the  broad  path  where  densely  the  laurels  grow, 

And  over  a  little  lawn,  not  closely  mown, 

Where  wave  the  flowering  grass  and  the  rich  meadow-sweet. 

She  seems  to  walk  painfully  now  and  slow 

And  drags  a  little  on  her  high-heeled  feet. 

She  stops  at  last  below 

An  old  and  twisted  plum-tree,  whose  last  petal  is  gone, 

Leans  on  the  comfortable,  rugged  bole 

And  stares  through  the  green  leaves  at  the  drooping  sun. 

The  tree  and  the  warm  light  comfort  her  aging  soul. 


On  the  other  lawn  behind  her,  out  of  sight, 

The  girls  at  play 

Drive  out  melancholy  by  lively  delight 

And  the  wind  carries  their  songs  and  laughter  away. 

Some  begin  dancing  and  seriously  tread 

A  modern  measure  up  and  down  the  grass, 

Turn,  slide  with  bending  knees  and  pass 

With  dipping  hand  and  poising  head, 

Float  through  the  sun  in  pairs,  like  newly  shed 

And  golden  leaves  astray 

[62] 


Fete  Galante 


Upon  the  warm  wind  of  an  autumn  day, 
When  the  Indian  summer  rules  the  air. 

Others,  having  found, 

Lying  idly  on  the  sun-hot  ground, 

Shuttlecocks  and  battledores, 

Play  with  the  buoyant  feathers  and  stare 

Dazzled  at  the  plaything  as  it  soars, 

Vague  against  the  shining  sky, 

Where  light  yet  throbs  and  confuses  the  eye, 

Then  see  it  again,  white  and  clear, 

As  slowly,  poisedly  it  falls  by 

The  dark  green  foliage  and  floats  near. 

But  Celia,  apart,  is  pensive  and  must  sigh 

And  Anais  but  faintly  pursues  the  game. 

An  encroaching,  inner  flame 

Burns  in  their  hearts  with  the  acrid  smoke  of  unrest; 

But  gaiety  runs  like  quicksilver  in  Rose's  breast 

And  Phillis,  rising, 

Walks  by  herself  with  high  and  springy  tread, 

All  her  young  blood  racing  from  heels  to  head, 

Breeding  new  desires  and  a  new  surprising 

Strength  and  determination, 

Whereof  are  bred 

Confidence  and  joy  and  exultation. 

The  long  day  closes; 

Rosalind's  hour  draws  near,  and  Chloe's  and  Rose's, 
The  hour  that  Celia  has  prayed, 
The  hour  for  which  Anais  and  Stella  have  stayed, 
When  Helen  shall  forget  her  wit 

[63] 


Fete  Galante 


And  Phillida  by  a  sure  arrow  at  length  be  hit. 

And  Phillis,  the  fleet  runner,  be  at  length  overtaken, 

When  this  bough  of  young  blossoms 

By  the  rough,  eager  gatherers  shall  be  shaken. 

Their  eyes  grow  dim, 

Their  hearts  flutter  like  taken  birds  in  their  bosoms, 

As  the  light  dies  out  of  heaven, 

And  a  faint,  delicious  tremor  runs  through  every  limb, 

And  faster  the  volatile  blood  through  their  veins  is  driven. 


The  long  day  closes; 

The  last  light  fades  in  the  amber  sky; 

Warm  through  the  warm  dusk  glow  the  roses 

And  a  heavier  shade  drops  slowly  from  the  trees, 

While  through  the  garden  as  all  colours  die 

The  scents  come  livelier  on  the  quickening  breeze. 

The  world  grows  larger,  vaguer,  dimmer, 

Over  the  dark  laurels,  a  few  faint  stars  glimmer; 

The  moon,  that  was  a  pallid  ghost, 

Hung  low  on  the  horizon,  faint  and  lost, 

Comes  up,  a  full  and  splendid  golden  round 

By  black  and  sharp-cut  foliage  overcrossed. 

The  girls  laugh  and  whisper  now  with  hardly  a  sound 


Till  all  sound  vanishes,  dispersed  in  the  night, 
Like  a  wisp  of  cloud  that  fades  in  the  moon's  light 
And  the  garden  grows  silent  and  the  shadows  grow 
Deeper  and  blacker  below 

The  mysteriously  moving  and  murmuring  trees, 

[64] 


Fete  Galante 


That  stand  out  darkly  against  the  star-luminous  sky; 

Huge  stand  the  trees, 

Shadowy,  whispering  immensities, 

That  rain  down  quietude  and  darkness  on  heart  and  eye. 

None  move,  none  speak,  none  sigh, 

But  from  the  laurels  comes  a  leaping  voice 

Crying  in  tones  that  seem  not  man's  or  boy's 

But  only  joy's, 

And  hard  behind  a  loud  tumultuous  crying, 

A  tangled  skein  of  noise, 

And  the  girls  see  their  lovers  come,  each  vicing 

Against  the  next  in  glad  and  confident  poise 

Or  softly  moving 

To  the  side  of  the  chosen  with  gentle  words  and  loving 

Gifts  for  her  pleasure  of  sweetmeats  and  jewelled  toys. 


Dear  Love,  whose  strength  no  pedantry  can  stir, 

Whether  in  thine  iron  enemies 

Or  in  thine  own  strayed  follower, 

Bemused  with  subtleties  and  sophistries, 

Now  dost  thou  rule  the  garden,  now 

The  gatherers'  hands  have  grasped  the  scented  bough. 


Slow  the  sweet  hours  resolve  and  one  by  one  are  sped. 
The  garden  lieth  empty.     Overhead 
A  nightjar  rustles  by,  wing  touching  wing, 
And  passes,  uttering 
His  hoarse  and  whirring  note. 
The  daylight  birds  long  since  are  fled, 

[65] 


Fete  Galante 


Nor  has  the  moon  yet  touched  the  brown  bird's  throat. 

All's  quiet,  all  is  silent,  all  around 

The  day's  heat  rises  gently  from  the  ground 

And  still  the  broad  moon  travels  up  the  sky, 

Now  glancing  through  the  trees  and  now  so  high 

That  all  the  garden  through  her  rays  are  shed 

And  from  the  laurels  one  can  just  descry 

Where  in  the  distance  looms  enormously 

The  old  house,  with  all  its  windows  black  and  dead. 


[66] 


WHO  KNOWS  HOW  BEAUTY  SPRINGS 

Who  knows  how  beauty  springs 
Out  of  the  world  of  things, 
To  take  the  eyes  with  sudden  flame 
And  vanish  whence  it  came, 
High  above  things  that  vex, 
Fear,  covetousness,  spite  and  sex? 

Lost  in  the  busy  day, 

In  thoughts  that  harry  and  press, 

I  knew  a  young  girl  passed 

And  heard  her  swinging  dress; 

And  when  I  turned  I  saw, 

Raised  on  a  stair, 

Only  her  ankle,  finely  poised 

Against  the  coloured  air. 

Who  that  has  known  can  tell 
How  in  this  world  of  things, 
Suddenly  in  the  dark  day, 
Eternal  beauty  springs? 


[67] 


THE  WILD  GOOSE  CHASE 

How  long  a  day  through  thickets  and  over  stones 
And  over  broad  red  furrows  fresh  from  the  plough, 

And  hills  where  low  the  wind-bent  heather  drones 
And  swift  airs  whistle  round  the  sky-line  bough! 

How  the  wind  clutched  at  flesh  and  bowels  and  bones! 
How  breathless  they  were  all  day,  how  weary  now, 

When  in  the  town  beneath  a  fading  light 

They  sought  a  lodging  for  their  transient  night. 


What  in  what  frenzy  did  they  thus  pursue? 

Eternal  wisdom  or  the  baser  gold 
Or  pleasures  of  the  senses  ever  new 

Or  rarer  spiritual  ecstasies  still  untold? 
From  dawn  till  dusk,  with  sun,  wind,  hills,  rain,  dew, 

They  were  burnt  or  they  were  weary  or  they  were  cold 
Or  wet  or  dirty.     Still  they  chased  untired 
A  thing  not  named  but  endlessly  desired. 


But  when  the  chase  was  done  at  last,  they  came 
Into  the  darkling  town  with  empty  hands; 

Their  faces  through  the  dusk  burnt  with  a  flame 

Wind  caught,  their  feet  were  heavy  from  marshy  lands. 

[68] 


The  Wild  Goose  Chase 


They  brought  with  them  no  answer  to  their  proud  claim, 

No  prize  given  over  to  their  loud  demands; 
They  found  an  inn,  where  windows  long  and  low 
Streaked  the  thick  darkness  with  a  golden  glow. 

Inns  of  our  nights,  where  we  have  sat  together, 

Boots  off  and  dreaming  at  the  magic  fire! 
There  the  mind's  free,  the  spirit  casts  its  tether 

The  thoughts  in  concert  dance  and  do  not  tire, 
Till  sleep  with  silent  foot  and  sudden  feather 

Brushes  his  drugs  across  the  joy  and  desire 
And  all  long  night  is  darkness  and  deep  peace, 
In  the  old  inn,  walled  round  with  silent  trees. 

The  happy  good  find  this  when  the  day  is  spent, 

When  they  have  filled  their  day  with  seeing  and  knowing. 

Here  from  their  chase  they  came  and  found  content 
And  reaped  at  night  good  grain  of  early  sowing, 

Laughter  by  tears  and  joy  by  sorrow  lent 
And  gifts  on  unexpected  breezes  blowing  — 

We  too  shall  sit,  after  youth's  fret  and  rage, 

In  the  comfortable  bar  of  middle  age. 

Yet  while  light  burns  and  the  air  aches  in  our  veins 

And  we  are  capable  of  anger  and  love, 
Slow  fires  of  the  senses,  swift  play  of  the  brains 

And  tenderness  and  friendliness  enough, 
We  will  be  out  in  the  winds,  the  dews,  the  rains, 

And  find  our  meaning  in  such  transient  stuff, 
While  through  sharp,  veering  gusts  of  tears  and  mirth, 
We  chase  our  wild  geese  over  the  windy  earth. 

[69] 


HYMN  TO  DESIRE 

To  Linda  Chesterman 

Not  only  when  thou  art  terrible,  Desire, 

Do  we  acknowledge  thine  unshaken  power; 
Thou  liv'st  not  only  in  the  raging  fire, 

Thou  liv'st  as  fully  in  the  slightest  flower. 
Now  the  moon  fails,  that  radiant  so  long 

Rode  the  black,  burnished  levels  of  the  night, 

Serene  and  lovely  witness  of  delight; 
And  now  I  catch  my  breath  and  hold  my  song, 

That  cannot  longer  than  the  heaven  be  bright, 
For  the  faint  clouds  that  now  obscure  the  moon 
Darken  my  mind's  serenity  too  soon. 

i^iiY 

Thus  is  it  ever.     Still  the  shade  will  creep 

On  lovely  things,  who  knoweth  how  or  whence? 

Like  quick  dreams  crowding  in  a  healthy  sleep, 
A  sudden  pulse,  an  urgent  influence. 

Thus  the  light  wrinkles  on  an  azure  pool 

Spread  outward  from  the  fall  of  one  frail  leaf, 
The  first  the  tree  weeps  off  for  future  grief, 

In  the  sad  hour  when  summer's  cup  is  full. 

Long  move  the  waters,  though  the  touch  be  brief, 

And  break  in  shards  that  image  of  the  sky 

They  showed  before  in  blue  tranquillity. 

[70] 


Hymn  to  Desire 


Who  knoweth  how  or  whence  desire  will  come, 
The  wind  that  wakes  the  foam-line  on  the  sea, 

That  breathes  new  feeling  into  spirits  numb 
To  try  again  an  exquisite  agony? 

Maybe  when  in  the  idle  world  of  men, 
We  poise  in  words  upon  the  perfect  hour 
Or,  lonely,  stoop  to  touch  a  lonely  flower, 

At  the  serenest  point  of  noon  or  when 

A  black  cloud  breaks  into  a  silver  shower; 

Out  of  all  these  and  out  of  more  than  these 

The  influence  comes  that  shatters  all  our  ease. 

I  too  have  prayed  to  feel  desire  no  more, 
To  find  in  little  things  a  small  content, 

No  longer  from  the  green  and  friendly  shore 
To  swim,  a  waif  in  the  huge  element. 

My  spirit  darkens,  my  heart  beats  fitfully; 
A  power  descends  upon  my  soul  that  shakes 
The  calm  of  tranquillizing  song  and  breaks 

The  doom-dark  wave  of  passion  over  me 
And  every  tumult  in  my  being  wakes; 

A  power  not  friendly  to  me  but  divine 

Troubles  the  current  of  my  trembling  line. 


[71] 


Hymn  to  Desire 


In  all  the  things  we  love  the  ambush  lies 

And  most  of  all  in  love.     Who  has  not  known 

Under  the  glance  of  the  beloved's  eyes 

How  painfully  his  deep  unrest  has  grown? 

Out  of  sweet  things  we  would  a  refuge  make, 
A  certain  harbour  for  the  flying  mind, 
Each  worldly  solace  to  our  fortune  bind, 

Comfort  from  love,  counsel  from  friendship  take; 
Yet  in  the  roof  and  furnishings  we  find, 

Hid  like  a  snake,  whose  fangs  bear  venomous  fire, 

Thou  hast  thy  secret  shelter  made,  Desire! 


0  most  of  all  in  love!     Contentment  there 

Is  but  the  single  moment  ere  decay, 
Precursor  of  a  long  and  dull  despair, 

Frets  the  fruit's  golden  rind  and  flesh  away. 
Some  wear  love's  crown  a  day  and  see  love  go, 

Having  been  content;   but  they  whose  loves  endure 

Ache  with  an  ill  love  has  not  strength  to  cure, 
Strive  for  perfection,  stumble  still  and  know 

Too  well  that  love  is  ever  insecure, 
That  in  the  midst  of  pleasure  hunger  sits 
And  feeds  upon  the  tortured  heart  and  wits. 


[72] 


Hymn  to  Desire 


Immortal  agony!  what  canst  thou  be, 

If  that  thou  be  not  the  immortal  spur, 
Which,  when  we  halt  in  sloth  or  luxury 

We  faint  and  failing  mortals  must  incur? 
Thus  comes  the  wind  upon  a  mountain-lake 

That  lay  beneath  the  sun,  serene  and  bland; 

And  now  at  touch  of  the  triumphant  hand 
A  thousand  colours  on  the  surface  wake; 

The  ripples  move  and  curl  from  land  to  land 
And,  while  they  struggle  and  the  tyrant  blows, 
The  tumult  of  the  sunlit  water  grows. 


The  faint  clouds  drift  and  drive  across  the  moon, 
Veil  and  unveil  her  distant  loveliness; 

The  ecstasy  will  sink  and  leave  me  soon, 
Yet  still  the  vague,  bright  intimations  press 

Remorselessly  upon  my  flagging  mind, 

And  to  these  whips  my  shuddering  flesh  lies  bare 
And  to  these  lights  my  aching  eyeballs  stare  — 

I  wince,  my  courage  leaves  me,  I  am  blind! 
0  spare  me  utter  death  but  mostly  spare 

The  dull  revengeful  fire,  the  mocking  prize 

Which  in  the  heart  of  all  fulfilment  lies, 


[73] 


Hymn  to  Desire 


For  all  fulfilment  let  lament  be  made, 

Save  for  the  pause  and  turning  which  is  death; 
Weep  for  those  spirits  who  on  shows  that  fade 

And  earthly  copies  waste  their  fitful  breath, 
Forgetful  of  the  far,  ideal  skies. 

They  know  not  how  the  awakened  soul  can  be 

Borne  above  sorrow  and  felicity 
To  hold  brief  converse  thus  with  Paradise 

And  catch  the  signals  of  eternity; 
They  know  not  that  desire  is  but  a  spray 
Thrown  from  the  fountain  of  eternal  day! 


The  moon  is  gone,  the  moon  is  down  and  dead; 

A  last  dull  gleam  in  the  horizon  trees 
Bears  witness  to  the  glory  that  is  shed; 

Now  through  the  vacant  sky  a  rambling  breeze 
Murmurs  invisibly.     The  wings  now  fail 

That  bore  aloft  my  struggling  load  of  song. 

I  faint,  I  falter.     Be  thou  now  not  long, 
0  sleep  unwaked  of  owl  or  nightingale, 

Nor  let  not  in  on  me  the  urgent  throng 
Of  dreams,  but  be  thou  full  and  calm  and  deep, 
For  more  than  this  I  crave  not,  blessed  sleep! 


[74] 


A  DIALOGUE 

Long  have  I  striven  and  now  am  overwrought 
With  sleepless  nights  and  days  whose  blackened  suns 
Make  pale  my  blood  and  drain  my  spirit  of  fire, 
Mine  eyes  of  light. 

—  But  spring  will  come  again. 

—  But  not  again  that  old  ideal  spring, 
The  essence  of  the  Aprils  that  have  been 
And  live  as  memories.     All  that  is  lost; 
Now,  even  in  my  six  and  twentieth  year, 
Like  winter  twilight  in  a  little  room, 
Over  the  wide  expanse  of  wood  and  field, 

Slow  darkness  thickens  in  the  room  of  the  world, 
Which  with  the  lamps  of  science  and  poetry 
I  must  illuminate  as  best  I  can. 

—  But  there  is  life  beyond  this  darkening  life. 
Somewhere  behind  the  narrow  arch  of  blue 
Dwell  the  imaginable  verities 

Which  you  have  seen  and  whose  remembered  forces 
Draw  your  sick  heart  in  longing  from  your  breast. 

—  They  are  there  indeed  but  I  am  cast  on  earth. 
After  how  long  and  how  headlong  a  fall 

I  here  reside!  where  there  is  nothing  true 
But  shadows  and  faint  copies  that  suggest 
Dimly  and  brokenly  the  real  world, 

[75] 


A  Dialogue 

Whence  we  are  exiled  here.     0,  how  can  I 
See  the  truth  shine  beyond  phantasmal  shows 
And  thin  the  splendour  of  the  gorgeous  earth 
And  still  be  glad  for  either? 


—  But  your  spirit 

Remembers  yet  the  home  from  which  you  came 
And  gives  ideal  beauty  to  the  fragments 
And  wreckage  of  this  unpieced,  fantastic  life. 
—  Would  it  were  so!     The  world  in  which  we  live 
Was  once  my  pleasure.     Midday  gleaming  elms 
And  silent  oaks  with  brooding  night  in  their  boughs 
And  the  low-chanting  aspens  and  the  holy 
Unreal  thorn  ablaze  with  silver  flowers, 
Whether  amid  the  odorous  meadows  set 
Or  on  the  sides  of  smooth  and  lofty  hills, 
Delighted  me  and  then  were  nought  but  trees. 
The  rayless  blue  of  heavy  August  skies 
Pleased  me,  and  the  clouds  that  floated  stiffly  past 
Were  solid  toys  that  vision  touched  and  played  with. 
I  found  my  joy  in  beautiful  forms  and  in 
The  fresh  and  supple  body  of  my  young  love, 
Her  voice,  her  eyes,  her  arms  about  my  neck, 
And  in  all  girls  that  passed  me  in  the  streets, 
Light  with  the  grace  of  youth  and  happy  pride, 
In  colours  and  music  and  the  lovely  words 
That  then  could  bind  my  sorrows  up  with  spells, 
Such  sorrows  as  then  I  knew.     But  now  through  these 
Shines  the  intolerable  sum  of  truth, 
Gleams  through  the  misty  veil 

[76] 


A  Dialogue 

Of  the  world's  beauty  and  makes  poor  and  thin 
This  life's  imperfect  grace. 

—  Yet  do  you  not 
Strive  for  perfection  still, 

Strain  and  glow  warm  in  straining  for  the  truth? 
Are  not  the  joys  you  had  from  earthly  things 
Transformed  by  musing  on  the  original? 

—  Would  it  were  so! 

—  Yet  have  you  no  inner  faith 
That  from  the  mist  of  illusion  you  will  at  length 
Emerge  and  move  about  the  real  world? 

—  Thence  have  I  fallen  far  and  farther  fall 
Headlong  in  ruin  through  these  empty  cheats. 
Why  should  I  hope  (since  hope  is  also  a  cheat) 
Ever  to  find  again  that  tangled  way 

I  followed  hither  from  eternity? 

Still  through  the  waste  of  dark  and  whirling  time, 
Through  shadowed  years  and  sombre  centuries, 
My  spirit  goes,  like  a  lost  child  in  a  wood, 
Crying  for  home  amid  the  unfriendly  boughs 
And  straying  further  from  the  invisible  road. 


[77] 


MEDITATION  IN  JUNE,  1917 


How  can  we  reason  still,  how  look  afar, 

Who,  these  three  years  now,  are 
Drifting,  poor  flotsam  hugely  heaved  and  hurled 

In  the  birthday  of  a  world, 
Upon  the  waves  of  the  creative  sea? 

How  gain  lucidity 
Or  even  keep  the  faith  wherewith  at  first 

We  met  the  storm  that  burst, 
The  singing  hope  of  revolution's  prime? 

For  in  that  noble  time 
We  saw  the  petty  world  dissolve  away 

And  fade  into  a  day 
Where  dwelt  new  spirits  of  a  better  growth, 

Unchecked  by  spite  and  sloth. 
We  saw,  and  even  now  we  seem  to  see 

In  fitful  revery, 
Like  hills  obscured  and  hid  by  earthly  mist, 

The  hopes  that  first  we  kissed: 
We  see  them  —  catch  at  them  and  lose  again 

In  apathy  and  pain 
What  maybe  was  (though  it  once  seemed  ours  to  hold) 

No  more  than  fairy  gold. 
[78] 


Meditation  in  June,  1917 


ii 

We  pity  those  whom  quick  death  overtakes, 

Though  they  will  never  see 
How  hope  dissolves  and  founded  loyalty  shakes 

Traitorously,  piteously. 
They  lose  at  most  and  death  is  voiceless  still 

Nor  whispers  in  their  ears 
When  they  are  lying  on  the  deep-scarred  hill 

What  our  calm  silence  hears. 
They  lose  all  various  life,  they  lose  the  day, 

The  clouds,  the  winds,  the  rain, 
The  blossoms  down  an  English  road  astray 

They  will  not  see  again; 
Great  is  their  loss  but  more  tremendous  things 

To  us  at  home  are  given, 
Doubts,  fears  and  greeds  and  shameful  waverings 

That  hide  the  blood-red  heaven. 
They  knew  no  doubt  and  fear  was  soon  put  by: 

Freely  their  souls  could  move 
In  deeds  that  gave  new  life  to  loyalty, 

A  sharper  edge  to  love. 
They  are  the  conquerors,  the  happy  dead, 

Who  gave  their  lives  away, 
And  now  amid  the  trenches  where  they  bled, 

Forgetful  of  the  day, 
Deaf,  blind  and  unaware,  sleep  on  and  on, 

Nor  open  eyes  to  weep, 
Know  nought  of  what  is  ended  or  begun 
But  only  and  always  sleep. 

[79] 


Meditation  in  June,  1917 


in 

We  said  on  that  first  day,  we  said  and  swore 

That  self  should  be  no  more, 
That  we  were  risen,  that  we  would  wholly  be 

For  love  and  liberty; 
And  in  the  exhilaration  of  that  oath 

We  cast  off  spite  and  sloth 
And  laboured  for  an  hour,  till  we  began, 

Man  after  piteous  man, 
To  lose  the  splendour,  to  forget  the  dream 

And  leave  our  noble  theme, 
To  find  again  our  lusts  and  villainies 

And  seek  a  baser  prize; 
This  we  have  done  and  what  is  left  undone 

Cries  out  beneath  the  sun. 
How  glad  a  dawn  fades  thus  in  foggy  night, 

Where  not  a  star  shines  bright! 


[80] 


Meditation  in  June,  1917 


IV 

Is  all  then  gone?     That  nobler  morning  mood 

When  pain  appeared  an  honour  and  grief  a  gift 

And  what  was  difficult  was  also  good? 

Are  all  our  wishes  on  the  waves  adrift? 

The  young,  the  eager -hearted,  they  are  gone, 

And  we,  the  stay-at-homes,  are  tired  and  old, 

Careless  how  carelessly  our  work  is  done, 

Forgetful  how  that  morning  rose  in  gold 

When  all  our  hearts  cried  out  in  unison, 

Triumphant  in  the  new  triumphal  sun. 

How  dull  a  night  succeeds!  how  dark  and  cold! 

We  will  arise.     Oh,  not  as  then  with  singing, 

But  silence  in  our  mouths  and  no  word  said, 

Though  wracks  of  that  lost  glory  round  us  clinging 

Shame  us  with  broken  oaths  we  swore  the  dead, 

But  steadfast  in  humility  we  rise, 

Hoping  no  glory,  having  merited  none, 

Through  the  long  night  to  toil  with  aching  eyes 

And  pray  that  our  humbler  hearts  may  earn  the  sun. 


[81] 


ELEGY 
(For  J.N.,  died  of  wounds,  October,  1916.} 

So  you  are  dead.     We  lived  three  months  together, 
But  in  these  years  how  absence  can  divide! 

We  did  not  meet  again.     I  wonder  whether 
You  thought  of  me  at  all  before  you  died. 

There  in  that  whirl  of  unaccustomed  faces, 

Strange,  friendless,  ill,  I  found  in  you  a  friend  — 

And  then  at  last  in  these  divided  places, 
For  you  in  France  and  here  for  me  the  end. 

For  friendship's  memory  was  short  and  faithless 
And  time  went  by  that  will  not  come  again, 

And  you  are  dead  of  wounds  and  I  am  scatheless 
Save  as  my  heart  has  sorrowed  for  my  slain. 

I  wonder  whether  you  were  long  in  dying, 
Where,  in  what  trench  and  under  what  dim  star, 

With  drawn  face  on  the  clayey  bottom  lying, 
While  still  the  untiring  guns  cried  out  afar. 

I  might  have  been  with  you,  I  might  have  seen  you 
Reel  to  the  shot  with  blank  and  staring  eye, 

I  might  have  held  you  up  ...  I  might  have  been  you 
And  lain  instead  of  you  where  now  you  lie. 

[82] 


Elegy 

Here  in  our  quietude  strange  fancy  presses, 
Dark  thoughts  of  woe  upon  the  empty  brain, 

And  fills  the  streets  and  the  pleasant  wildernesses 
With  forms  of  death  and  ugly  shapes  of  pain. 

You  are  long  dead.     A  year  is  nearly  over, 
But  still  your  voice  leaps  out  again  amid 

The  tangled  memories  that  lie  and  cover 

With  countless  trails  what  then  we  said  and  did. 

And  still  in  waking  dreams  I  sit  and  ponder 
Pleasures  that  were  and,  as  my  working  brain 

Deeper  in  revery  will  stray  and  wander, 
I  think  that  I  shall  meet  with  you  again 

And  make  my  plans  and  half  arrange  the  meeting, 
And  half  think  out  the  words  that  will  be  said 

After  the  first  brief,  careless,  pleasant  greeting.  .  . 
Then  suddenly  I  remember  you  are  dead. 


[83] 


THE  HALT 

"  Mark  time  in  front!     Rear  fours  cover!     Company  —  halt! 

Order  arms!     Stand  at  —  ease!     Stand  easy."     A  sudden 
hush: 

And  then  the  talk  began  with  a  mighty  rush  — 
"  You  weren't  ever  in  step  —  The  sergeant. —  It  wasn't  my 

fault  — 
Well,  the  Lord  be  praised  at  least  for  a  ten  minutes'  halt." 

We  sat  on  a  gate  and  watched  them  easing  and  shifting; 

Out  of  the  distance  a  faint,  keen  breath  came  drifting, 
From  the  sea  behind  the  hills,  and  the  hedges  were  salt. 

Where  do  you  halt  now?     Under  what  hedge  do  you  lie? 

Where  the  tall  poplars  are  fringing  the  white  French  roads? 
And  smoke  I  have  not  seen  discolours  the  foreign  sky? 
Is  the  company  resting  there  as  we  rested  together 

Stamping  its  feet  and  readjusting  its  loads 
And  looking  with  wary  eyes  at  the  drooping  weather? 


[84] 


THE  FIRELESS  TOWN 


THE  FIRELESS  TOWN 

Beneath  a  rising  wood  there  was  a  town 
That  had  in  ancient  times  its  own  renown, 
For  in  a  valley  rich  and  warm  it  lay 
And  there  through  interwoven  boughs  the  day 
Came  softly  stealing  and  burning  brighter,  till 
The  broad  sun  rose  above  the  topmost  hill. 
A  long  way  west,  the  broad  and  level  plains, 
White  with  the  dew  or  filled  with  morning  rains, 
Stirred  in  the  dawn  and  shook  a  myriad  leaves 
Over  the  flanks  of  silky-coated  beeves, 
And  there  great  fields  of  green  or  yellow  corn 
With  lifting  heads  the  seasons  did  adorn, 
While  acres  much  more  odorous  lay  between, 
Bee-pleasing  clover  and  the  scented  bean, 
And  orchards,  where  long  loaded  boughs  hung  down, 
Parted  the  open  country  and  the  town. 
It  was  a  portly  place,  because  therein 
A  many  merchants  mighty  gain  did  win 
By  bartering  the  farmers'  rich  increase, 
Or  wool  much  wealthier  than  the  Golden  Fleece, 
Wherewith  they  built  great  halls  of  yellow  stone 
And  set  tall  windowed  gables  thereupon 
And  hoarded  in  their  houses  gold  and  gem 
And  silk  and  silver  vessels.     One  of  them 
A  daughter  had,  of  whom  the  story  is, 

[87] 


The  Fireless  Town 


In  beauty  blest  and  maiden  innocencies. 
Her  name  was  Helen  and  her  heart  was  proud, 
For  though  much  loved  she  had  not  loved  nor  bowed 
To  be  a  toy  for  any  man  or  hear 
Love's  subtle  offers  urged  by  any  whisperer. 
Yet  in  the  flesh  she  was  divinely  made; 
Her  honey-shining  hair  in  heavy  braid 
Clung  round  her  temples,  as  the  sunset  lies 
On  snowy  mountain  ridges  and  her  eyes 
Burnt  like  the  heaven's  warm  and  candid  grey 
When  August  spends  in  fire  his  dreamy  day; 
Straight  as  an  arrow,  as  a  birch-tree  tall, 
Where  maidens  met  she  overcame  them  all. 
So  she  was  made;  but  how  she  looked  and  moved 
Could  not  be  told  by  them  that  most  her  loved. 
They  watched  her  with  the  young  girls,  when  she  came 
And  danced  with  them,  a  light  and  errant  flame, 
Cool  fire  that  flickered  and  was  not  consumed 
But  burnt  more  radiant  as  the  dark  trees  gloomed 
With  drooping  night.     They  worshipped  her  when  she 
Advanced  her  narrow  ankles  delicately 
Or  turned  on  flashing  heels  or  quickly  span 
Around  the  ring  with  light  skirts  swaying  as  she  ran. 
When  she  was  walking,  it  was  strange  how  went 
Her  nimble  pace  upon  the  pavement, 
How  easily  she  climbed  the  steepest  hill 
And  laughed  upon  the  crest,  untroubled  still; 
She  spoke  as  though  a  nightingale  had  rested 
Within  her  rising  bosom  and  there  nested, 
Contented  with  one  climate  all  the  year, 
Where  every  morning  still  gay  summer  did  appear. 

[88] 


The  Fireless  Town 


In  many  suitors  found  she  lovers  none: 
Of  all  that  prayed  to  her  she  chose  not  one. 
At  nightfall  by  the  lanthorn  light  she  stayed 
While  her  companions  of  the  sun  delayed 
With  other  friends  to  saunter  in  the  wood 
So  softly  that  the  light  awakened  brood 
Of  crying  birds  that  harboured  there  slept  on 
Nor  knew  what  hid,  delightful  things  were  done, 
What  gifts  refused  and  what  at  last  were  given 
Beneath  the  friendly,  close  and  leaf-embroidered  heaven. 
Some  maidens  came  back  silently  and  some 
Loud  in  their  joy  along  the  dark  streets  home 
And  some  came  weeping;  but  ere  all  were  come 
Helen  slept  dreamless  in  her  narrow  bed, 
Her  body  lying  straight,  her  quiet  head 
Still  on  the  pillow  and  her  quiet  eyes 
.Peacefully  rid  of  day's  quick  vanities. 
Though  all  men  praised,  her  father  praised  her  more 
Because  he  slept  at  night  with  unlocked  door, 
Unshuttered  windows  and  a  heart  at  rest, 
While  all  his  fellows  at  the  inn  confessed 
That  bars  and  bolts  must  keep  their  daughters  in 
And  roving  dishonour  from  the  anxious  kin. 
Young  men  reviled  what  gave  him  quiet  blood; 
Pale  were  their  sullen  faces  who  had  stood 
All  night  beneath  her  window,  that  all  night 
Denied  the  least  reply  of  flattering  light, 
Grated  no  sound,  however  harsh  or  small, 
But  blindly  stared  and  answered  not  at  all. 
They  lingered  in  the  dark  and  Helen  lay 
Unmoved  in  careless  sleep  until  the  day 

[89] 


The  Fireless  Town 


Dispatched  them  hollow-eyed  and  unappeased  away; 
She  rose  alone,  even  as  alone  they  slept, 
Nor  knew  what  thankless  vigil  had  been  kept. 
Proud  was  the  fortress,  strong  the  citadel, 
Jealous  the  girl  and  kept  her  treasure  well, 
But  thorniest  flowers  are  pulled  and  even  the  fortress  fell. 
At  that  time  in  the  town  the  custom  was 
Early  on  May  Day  through  the  gate  to  pass, 
Maidens  and  youths  in  amity  together, 
To  go  upon  the  hillside  and  to  gather 
Dew-heavy  may  and  what  else  flowers  might  be 
Hidden  in  brakes  or  flaunting  on  the  tree. 
With  these  they  hung  the  houses  and  the  day 
Was  spent  in  country  feasting  and  in  play, 
Hiding  and  Seeking,  Kissing  in  a  Ring, 
Here  is  a  Thing  and  a  very  Pretty  Thing, 
Or  Who's  Your  True  Love  Now?     And  when  they  played 
At  suchlike  pastimes,  every  holdback  maid 
Blushed  but  grew  kinder  and  grew  rosy  warm 
And  sighing  leaned  upon  her  lover's  arm; 
All  but  the  proudest  beauty  must  relent 
And  yield  herself  in  fee  of  that  day's  merriment. 
But  the  expected  hour,  which  all  the  year 
Lit  Helen's  lovers  like  a  beacon  clear, 
Found  her  so  chilly  yet  that  she  went  out 
Unpartnered  in  the  happy  pairing  rout 
Or  kept  a  girl  on  either  side  of  her, 
Or  mixed  so  gaily  in  the  march  and  stir 
That  none  of  the  young  men  could  find  a  place 
To  be  sole  gazer  on  her  laughing  face, 
To  speak  aside  with  her  in  trembling  tones 

[90] 


The  Fireless  Town 


Or  dare  in  love  what  only  love  condones, 

The   lawless   hand's   caress   or   wanton   speeches, 

Wherewith  the  suitor  claims  what  he  beseeches, 

They  went  out  singing  through  the  portal  wide 

And  past  the  runnel  at  the  meadow-side, 

The  mill-wheel's  clean  and  bubbling  freshet,  where 

Long  water-weeds  hung  out  their  trailing  hair, 

Past  the  deep  mill-pool,  green  and  dark  and  still, 

That  threw  them  back  their  pictures,  past  the  mill 

And  up  the  lane,  where  first  the  climb  began 

And  down  the  chalky  ruts  clear  gushes  ran. 

Now  by  the  roadside  came  the  shining  water, 

Now  went  from  hedge  to  hedge  with  muffled  laughter 

And  spread  across  the  path  and  stopped  the  way; 

Then  there  was  mocking  and  assumed  dismay, 

And  lifted  skirts  and  fearful  steps  and  some 

Were  borne  across  but  Helen  would  not  come 

A  gift  to  any  helping  arm.     She  leapt 

As  lightly  over  as  the  young  men  stepped, 

Standing  a  moment  poised  upon  the  edge. 

Have  you  not  seen  upon  the  grassy  ledge 

Beside  a  pool,  a  slender  lily  swaying 

At  every  turn  of  wind  and  each  obeying, 

As  though  in  mind  to  leap  it?     Thus  she  stood 

Under  the  first  green  shadows  of  the  wood. 

But  now  through  scattered  trees  and  luminous  shade 
Of  lighter  leaves  they  saw  the  open  glade 
Upon  the  hill-top,  where  light  harebells  grew 
Flecking  the  open  turf  with  airy  blue. 
The  troop  dispersed  and  running  up  and  down 

[91] 


The  Fireless  Town 


Broke  boughs  and  gathered  flowers  to  hang  the  town; 
These  in  their  baskets  garnered  violets  new 
And  fresh  anemones  that  sparkle  through 
The  wood's  light  shade  and  glimmer  in  green  air, 
Those  threaded  daisies  or  on  darkest  hair 
Laid  garlands  of  the  azure  bells  that  fade 
And  still  refuse  to  be  light  trophies  made 
Or  grace  a  dwelling  or  exist  an  hour 
On  maiden  bosoms  sweeter  than  the  flower 
But  sink  in  death  away  and  cheat  the  stronger  power. 
Now  Helen  laid  smooth  hands  upon  a  branch 
That  broke  and  hid  her  in  an  avalanche 
Of  trembling  green  and  red.     She  tossed  away 
To  waiting  lads  the  mute  and  captive  spray 
And  went  where  blossoms  of  the  starry  white 
Nodding  in  careless  liberty  upright 
Presumed  to  mock  upon  the  neighbouring  red 
That  still  they  lifted  an  unconquered  head. 
These  made  her  helpless  prisoners,  soon  she  went 
Deep  to  the  knees  in  the  green  wonderment 
That  bordered  all  the  wood  and  there  she  found 
In  folds  and  hollows  of  the  broken  ground 
By  lustrous  settlements  and  colonies 
The  misty  milkmaids  and  sunny  primroses; 
All  these  she  plucked  and  could  not  have  enough 
But  filled  her  skirts  with  bales  of  shining  stuff. 
However  long  and  willingly  they  toiled, 
Yet  would  these  treasures  not  have  been  despoiled, 
Though  they  had  harvested  till  odorous  night 
And  sought  for  shutting  blooms  by  glow-worm  light; 
But  now  the  sun,  well  risen  in  the  sky, 

[92] 


The  Fireless  Town 


Shone  on  the  osier  baskets  trembling  high 
And  bade  them  homeward.     So  they  took  the  way, 
Mindful  what  yet  was  due  of  mirth  and  play; 
And  as  they  travelled  happy  songs  were  sung, 
Maidens  and  men  in  company,  all  young, 
All  that  brave  youth  together,  all  the  young! 

How  excellent  is  youth  and  April  blood, 
That  is  by  every  diverse  fancy  wooed 
And  moves  as  easily  and  merrily 
As  April  breezes  in  a  hawthorn-tree ! 
How  good  youth  found  that  day  to  love  devoted, 
Well  in  his  calendar  with  red  marks  noted, 
A  stage  of  time,  a  milestone  in  the  year, 
Whereby  nought  sad  or  evil  came  anear 
But  only  careless  joy  and  joyous  things, 
Events  of  mark  and  golden  happenings! 
Yet  in  the  town  was  one  with  whom  the  day 
Unnoticed  and  unhonoured  burnt  away, 
Who  lay  so  deep  in  dusty  dreams  and  care 
He  had  not  known  that  May's  first  dawn  was  there. 
Young  Michael,  for  his  woe,  inherited 
Strange  figured  folios  from  his  father  dead, 
That  set  him  seeking  for  a  dismal  truth 
And  cast  a  shadow  early  on  his  youth; 
For  though  not  thirty  of  his  years  were  done 
He  lived  and  worked  and  ate  and  slept  alone, 
Renouncing  every  sweet  companionship 
And  every  bond  of  heart  and  hand  and  lip 
For  those  uncouth  and  more  than  doubtful  spells, 
Whereof  he  sought  to  tame  the  obstinate  syllables. 

[93] 


The  Fireless  Town 


Long  he  would  sit  with  painful,  swimming  eyes 
On  herbals  and  black-letter  mysteries, 
Or  drowse  himself  in  black  and  sleepy  smoke 
From  crystal  crucibles,  whence  he  awoke 
With  aching  forehead  and  with  trembling  limbs, 
Searching  the  lore  that  swelled  the  unholy  seraphims. 
Outside  his  window  grew  a  little  tree 
That  was  not  propped  or  pruned  but,  blossoming  free, 
Knocked  all  that  morning  on  the  dusty  pane 
Its  dear  beseeching  flowers  to  him  in  vain. 
He  saw  it  not  and  even  smelt  it  not 
But  plunged  in  thornier  thickets  of  dark  thought 
Pursued  in  heat  through  mental  bog  and  briar 
A  phantom  quarry,  a  Jack  o'  Lantern  fire, 
Soiling  in  those  foul  roads  his  youthful  spirit 
To  gain  a  doubtful  prize  of  little  merit. 
When  noon  with  burning  hand  was  come  and  gone 
And  lower  stooped  and  lower  the  unhasting  sun 
In  regular  departure  and  the  day 
Fruitless  for  him  had  almost  passed  away, 
Slant  through  his  window  came  a  radiance 
That  flickered  on  his  books  in  careless  dance, 
Dazzling  his  eyes  and  teaching  novel  lust 
For  pastime  to  the  grey  and  learned  dust. 
He  laid  aside  the  worm-worn  manuscript 
Whence  bitter  honey  painfully  he  sipped, 
Marking  his  place  with  one  brown  finger.     Still! 
What  music  ranted  from  the  distant  hill 
And  moved  the  valley  air  to  murmur  sweet, 
Breathing  unwonted  perfume  in  the  street, 
As  though  a  golden  light  a  golden  sound  should  meet 

[94] 


The  Fireless  Town 


And  marry  their  vibrations  in  the  air, 
Nor  light  nor  sound,  but  like  the  lucky  pair 
Salmacis  and  her  lover,  joined  to  grow  more  fair! 
That  music  filled  his  heart  with  new  unease; 
Gazing  he  saw  amid  the  lower  trees 
With  unbelieving  eyes  a  happy  throng, 
That  ran  downhill  in  exultation  strong, 
Holding  aloft  great  branches  of  the  may 
And  casting  countless  blossoms  by  the  way. 
Still  as  he  gazed  they  grew;  no  more  they  seemed 
Fantastic   shapes   at   drowsy  midnight   dreamed 
But  breathing  flesh  of  mortal  excellence 
And  bodies  to  be  seized  by  human  sense. 
Michael  awoke;  the  new  blood  in  his  veins 
Roused,  like  the  gush  of  early  summer  rains, 
A  thirsty  channel  into  busy  growth 
Till  blossoming  joy  took  root  in  obscure  sloth 
And  ran  into  the  street  with  eyes  aflame 
Sweet  as  the  rose  and  thornier  than  the  rose! 
A  day  will  come  in  studious  life,  when  he 
Who  pawns  youth's  heritage  for  the  rusty  key 
To  chambers  full  of  learning's  grimy  treasure 
Pauses  and  longs  to  know  a  cleaner  pleasure; 
So  Michael  found  in  half  a  moment's  time 
That  all  his  empty  years  were  out  of  rhyme 
With  his  green  age  and  widowed  of  delight 
His  tedious  day  and  single  pillowed  night. 
Then  in  a  trance  he  stood  and  wondering 
Heard  nearer  to  his  house  again  the  maidens  sing, 
Whereat  his  senses  started  and  he  knew 
What  to  his  five  and  twenty  years  was  due 

[95] 


The  Fireless  Town 


That  yet  was  never  paid.     He  cast  adown 

Book,  crucible  and  tattered  magic  gown 

And  ran  into  the  street  with  eyes  aflame 

As  on  their  road  the  May  Day  revellers  came, 

Flushed  with  the  spoil  and  treasure  of  the  year 

And  crowned  and  garlanded  with  scented  gear. 

They  checked  their  onward  course  and  stared  at  him, 

Being  so  light  and  gay  and  he  so  grim; 

He  seemed  with  inky  hands  and  matted  curls 

A  gnarled  tree  in  a  field  of  flowerlike  girls, 

A  shaggy  comet  in  a  starry  night, 

So  blazed  his  eyes  and  so  his  hair  upright 

Circled  his  head  with  dark  and  waving  flame, 

So  dusky  red  he  grew  in  diffidence  and  shame. 

They  swirled  in  stream  about,  but  Helen  stayed 

Under  his  glance,  erect  and  unafraid, 

And  seeing  her,  he  thought  that  he  could  see 

His  fortune  in  her  bright  proximity, 

All  kindliness  and  innocence  and  truth 

And  all  the  comeliness  of  living  youth. 

She  laughed  at  him :     O  Michael  —  for  your  name 

I  know,  and  something  of  your  dusty  fame  — 

Will  you  come  with  us  till  the  day  be  spent? 

But  hearing  her  so  light  and  insolent, 

He  felt  a  strange  unrest,  a  foolish  fire 

Light  in  his  heart's  tough  wood  and  rise  and  twire, 

Flickering  in  the  tempest  of  his  blood 

But  burning  still  the  hard  and  stubborn  wood, 

Till  longing  made  a  fury  of  sparks  and  heat 

That  blinded  him  and,  swaying  on  his  feet, 

He  kissed  her  mouth  and  broke  in  a  panic  away 


The  Fireless  Town 


With  eyes  of  fear  and  breathing  of  dismay. 

She  panted  too;  the  rest  were  silent,  till 

A  girl  behind  sent  up  a  mocking  trill 

Of  thin  clear  laughter  and  all  their  laughter  broke, 

Louder  and  louder.     He  woke  and  Helen  woke; 

He  was  dying  back  from  frenzy  and  she  stood 

Whitefaced  in  anger  but  with  troubled  blood; 

He  stammered,  she  said  nought.     Then  at  the  last 

The  youths  behind  were  eager  to  be  past 

And  pushed  their  careless  way  by  Michael's  house, 

Leaving  him  staring  and  inglorious, 

Forgetful  of  the  studies  that  had  been 

So  long  his  spirit's  solely  loved  demesne, 

His  precious  drops  and  powders  and  the  fume 

That  still  with  hard,  stale  savour  filled  his  room. 

Therein  he  now  amazed  in  drowsy  fit 

Sought  to  bring  back  to  hand  his  wayward  wit, 

That  journeyed  in  a  new  and  cloudier  clime, 

As  though  by  drugs  translated,  whither  time 

Will  years  upon  the  perfect  minute  stay 

Or  cram  a  coloured  lifetime  in  a  day. 

Long  there  he  sat  in  revery  and  long 

Sought  to  forget  he  had  heard  any  song, 

So  all  might  be  as  erst,  but  found  the  charm  too  strong. 

Meanwhile  the  gay,  vociferous  multitude 
Awoke  the  town  with  clamorous  prelude; 
Joy's  drums  in  all  the  ardent  voices  rolled 
And  echoed  deafening  from  the  houses  cold; 
The  tall  and  silent  elm-trees  on  the  green, 
That  edged  the  street,  bowed  loftily  their  serene 

[971 


The  Fireless  Town 


Great  heads,  and  yews  in  gardens  walled  around 

Shook  stiffly  but  responsive  to  the  sound. 

Then  all  the  houses  woke  and  doors  were  thrown 

Wide  open,  that  the  music  might  be  blown 

Through  the  low  rooms  and  cool  wide  passages 

To  leave  behind  a  sweet  and  subtle  trace 

In  faint-flowered  curtains  and  old  padded  chairs 

And,  lingering  at  the  dark  turn  of  the  stairs 

Where  children  falter  going  up  to  bed, 

Endure  with  homely  scent  to  ease  their  dread. 

The  town  took  back  its  youth  again,  as  though 

A  golden  river  on  grey  sand  should  flow 

And  drew  them  here  and  there  and  parcelled  out 

In  house  and  church  and  hall  the  laden  rout 

To  strew  their  gifts.     And  now  the  happy  night 

Drew  near  to  them  already,  vaguely  bright, 

With  longed-for  victories  and  promised  joys, 

That  morning  pledged  amid  the  sun  and  noise, 

In  darkness  and  in  silence  to  be  fulfilled, 

When  the  lanthorns  paled  and  the  loud  pipes  were  stilled. 

But  Helen  was  not  with  them.     In  her  room, 
Close  curtains  drawn,  she  brooded  in  the  gloom 
That  could  alone  her  angry  roses  hide 
Or  the  white  blossoms  of  her  shaken  pride 
And  where  unheard  she  could  both  sigh  and  weep, 
Thinking  by  this  to  lull  her  shame  to  sleep. 
But  all  in  vain,  since  she  could  not  forget 
What  had  been  seen  of  all,  the  kiss  that  yet 
Burnt  on  her  pallid  mouth  and  printed  there 
A  stain  that  weeping  could  not  all  outwear. 

[98J 


The  Fireless  Town 


So  from  her  sighing  she  at  last  arose: 
Again  upon  her  cheeks  the  insulted  rose 
Burst  into  strange  and  sudden  blossoming 
And  now  her  anger  spread  a  rapid  wing. 
This  is  the  tale  of  smutched  innocence, 
That,  whatsoe'er  the  injury  or  whence, 
She  half  detects  a  felon  in  her  breast 
And  deems  her  enemy  the  fault  hath  guessed 
And  so,  twice  angered  and  with  double  fire, 
Rebukes  him  in  her  own,  her  traitorous  desire. 
Her  lamp,  being  lit,  gave  her  no  comfort  new, 
But  shone  too  clearly  out  and  sent  all  through 
The  shadows  of  her  small  and  quiet  room 
A  tempered  radiance  and  a  golden  gloom 
That,  falling  on  her  fingers,  let  her  see 
How,  clenched  and  tight,  they  trembled  piteously. 
Ask  not  how  she,  being  gentle  and  so  young, 
Could  in  her  virgin  thoughts  have  that  among 
Which  now  she  fostered  to  a  bitter  fruit, 
For  shame  in  honest  minds  is  oft  the  root 
Of  evil  things.     Who  knows  what  storms  they  are 
That  blot  out  suddenly  the  sailor's  star 
Of  peace  in  his  own  soul?     They  rise  unbidden 
From  distant  seas  and  icy  mountains  hidden 
Far  off  in  lands  untraversed.     Reason  then 
Drives  blindly  on  till  calm  returns  again, 
Nor  guesses  whither  but  despairingly 
Gives  up  the  rudder  to  the  tyrant  sea 
And  shuddering  hears  the  hard-tried  timbers  start 
In  that  fine  ship  she  navigates  —  the  heart. 
So,  anger  being  master,  Helen  took 

[99] 


The  Fireless  Town 


The  yellow  flyleaf  of  an  ancient  book 

And  wrote  in  haste  what  words  she  had  to  write, 

Nor  would  not  read  them  through  but  quickly  doused  the 

light, 

And  ran  with  panting  bosom  down  the  stair 
To  find  unseen  her  chosen  messenger. 
She  sent  him  off  and  fled  in  haste  again 
To  hide  from  all  her  mingled  fear  and  pain 
And  to  determine,  if  much  brooding  might, 
What  end  should  come  at  last  to  that  eventful  night. 

A  garden  underneath  her  window  lay 
That  in  the  cool  and  breathless  end  of  day 
Sent  up  sharp  perfumes  climbing  to  her  sill 
To  take  the  shadowy  air  by  waves  and  fill 
Her  room  with  ghosts  of  flowers.     The  lane  below 
Lay  empty,  but  the  town  was  louder  now 
With  silver  quiring  and  with  wanton  cries, 
That  ever  in  a  maddening  strain  would  rise, 
Clearer  and  stronger,  till  the  troubled  air 
Streamed  in  a  turmoil  and  the  lights  aglare 
Laid  out  before  the  gust  their  long  and  tossing  hair. 
All  this  she  heard  and  saw,  and  she  could  see 
Her  young  companions  go  by  two  and  three 
Across  the  lane's  dark  entry,  where  the  grass 
Grew  in  the  flags,  whereat  a  faint:     Alas! 
Rose  in  her  bosom,  neither  willed  nor  owned, 
But  still  by  hotter  spite  to  be  atoned. 
And  yet  the  lane  below  unvisited 
Lay  silent  till  the  quick,  triumphant  tread 
Of  Michael  sounded  there,  whose  happy  eyes 

[100] 


The  Fireless  Town 


Looked  upward  in  a  certain  lover's  guise; 
For  him  her  messenger  had  found  alone, 
Drowsing  in  dulness,  by  his  black  hearthstone, 
And  given  him  her  letter,  which,  being  read, 
Set  the  swift  blood  a-spinning  in  his  head. 
Then  he  had  risen  and  with  care  had  drest, 
And  niceness,  that  the  beating  heart  confessed, 
And  gone  to  keep  the  tryst,  as  fine  as  one 
Could  be  who  never  yet  on  love's  wild  ways  had  run. 
He  passed  amid  the  gay  and  careless  crowd, 
As  little  noticed  as  a  midnight  cloud, 
And  heard  no  syllable  of  all  their  song 
That  shook  the  dusky  trees  and  died  in  long 
Reverberations  down  the  alleys  deep 
Where  workday  tools  forgotten  lay  asleep; 
He  passed  the  lighted  windows  where  the  old 
Amused  the  night  with  stories  manifold 
And  bragging  legends  of  their  days  of  gold; 
He  passed  young  daring  girls,  who  mocked  him  after 
And  loosed  light  arrows  from  the  bow  of  laughter; 
He  passed  them  in  a  lonely  happiness 
And  turned  into  the  dark  lane's  quiet  recess. 
Then  Helen  waiting  saw  him  come  and  set 
A  candle  in  her  window.     Through  the  wet 
And  odorous  hedge,  he  ran  towards  the  sign, 
Coming  out  wreathed  with  tangled  trail  and  vine, 
Convolvulus  and  creeping  briony, 
And  stood  before  her  garlanded.     But  she 
Leant  down  to  him  and  whispered  through  the  still 
Sharp-scented  air  that  lay  upon  her  sill 
A  word  of  honeyed  consequence,  wherein 

[101] 


The  Fireless  Town 


His  name  afloat,  like  flowers  in  heady  wine, 
Enchanted  him  to  stammering  and  threw 
His  sense  unguarded  from  the  level  true. 
How  shall  I  come  to  you,  sweet  love?  he  cried. 
But  she  with  finger  on  her  lip  replied: 
Hush!  for  the  night  is  young  and  all  awake, 
And  none  must  know  how  we  our  secret  pleasure  take. 
What  should  I  do  if  any  found  you  here? 
You  are  too  loud  a  lover.     0,  I  fear 
Lest  in  your  eagerness  you  should  proclaim 
To  all  at  once  your  triumph  and  my  shame; 
In  silence  take  what  secretly  is  given, 
Nor  shout  your  victory  to  the  listening  heaven, 
But  breathe  it  on  my  breast  and  I  shall  hear 
What  could  not  be  so  sweet  cried  in  the  loud  mob's  ear. 
How  shall  I  come  to  you,  he  cried  again, 
Softer,  since  love  in  him  did  love  restrain, 
Whereto  she  answered:     You  shall  say,  not  I; 
Can  wizards  not  by  incantation  fly 
Astride  a  slip  of  thorn?     But  in  despair 
He  raised  his  wild  arms  up  and  said  to  her: 
My  craft  avails  me  not,  for  I  have  learnt 
No   gallant's  tricks   like  these.     I  never  burnt 
Till  now  to  climb  a  maiden's  window  nor 
Studied  the  cantraps  some  have  made  therefor. 
What  shall  I  do?     Must  we  the  whole  night  long 
Gaze  at  a  distance?     Surely  I  am  strong 
And  I  will  climb  to  you  or  find  a  way.  .  .  . 
He  ceased  and  no  word  further  could  he  say, 
Being  by  love  made  dumb  and  made  a  fool, 
Such  as  he  is  who  is  just  escaped  from  wisdom's  rule. 

[102] 


The  Fireless  Town 


But  while  in  misery  his  body  shook 

Helen  adjured  him  with  a  merry  look 

And  said  she  had  not  brought  him  there  in  vain 

To  see  her  window  and  go  home  again, 

And  thereupon  let  down  to  him  a  great 

Basket,  that  had  through  half  the  year  for  freight 

The  wizened  winter-apples,  packed  away 

And  growing  sweeter  and  fewer  every  day, 

But  now  must  hold  a  heavier  load  instead, 

A  lover  going  to  a  lawless  bed. 

I'll  draw  you  up  in  this,  she  breathed;  but  he 

Looked  at  the  height  and  stood  uncertainly 

Doubting  her  strength,  until  she  laughed  again: 

Love  pulls  the  rope  with  me  and  halves  the  pain, 

And  night  is  wasting,  Michael,  and  I  have  made 

An  easy  pulley  for  my  better  aid. 

Come,  if  you  truly  love  me!     He  thereat 

Hastily  in  the  swinging  basket  sat, 

And  as  she  drew  he  dug  his  nails  between 

The  wall's  great  stones  a  little  way  to  win, 

And  as  she  laboured  he  bore  double  strain 

Till  all  his  muscles  ached  with  twice  her  pain, 

And  double  agony  his  heart  possessed 

To  hear  the  loud  breath  in  her  toiling  breast 

And  think  that  she  should  stiffen  every  limb 

And  tax  her  blood  to  give  herself  to  him. 

Much  ere  he  came  in  thoughts  that  hurried  past, 
She  mused  what  she  must  do  with  him  at  last, 
And  in  perplexity  had  put  aside 
Her  many  plans  for  taking  down  his  pride 

[103] 


The  Fireless  Town 


And  still  had  made  no  plan;  but  when  he  came 
So  close  to  her,  his  eyes  revived  her  shame 
And  sent  new  anger  running  in  her  breast, 
For  now  his  foolish  heart,  by  hope  caressed, 
Moved  him  to  praise  her  in  a  voice  that  shook 
And  stare  on  her  with  so  possessive  look 
And  glance  so  greedy  and  assured  that  he 
Burnt  up  at  once  her  doubtful  leniency. 
Are  you  spent,  love?  he  asked  her,  being  aware 
That  now  the  basket  rocked  in  middle  air, 
Tie  up  the  rope  and  rest.     But  she  replied: 
Rest  easy,  Michael,  for  the  rope  is  tied 
And  we  are  safe  together,  you  and  I. 
Therewith,  into  the  room's  obscurity, 
She  disappeared  and  silence  settled  down 
On  that  one  alley  in  the  noisy  town. 
When  she  had  gone,  he  lay  awhile  at  ease, 
Whispering  fondly  inward  foolishness, 
How  lovely  she  was,  how  made  for  him  to  adore 
With  that  young  heart  which  never  loved  before, 
How  high  a  spirit  and  what  a  gallant  fire 
Had  leapt  impetuous  to  his  desire, 
How  her  mind  marched  with  his  against  delay 
And  tumbled  all  the  barriers  from  the  way! 
He  sighed  in  the  darkness,  smiled  and  was  content, 
Nor  cared  at  first  how  long  the  minutes  went 
Brushing  his  face  with  slow,  enchanted  wings 
And  filling  his  mind  with  magical  new  things, 
He  lay  so  close  to  all  he  coveted 
That  love  cried  truce  and  reason,  lightly  sped, 
Entered  upon  a  new  and  drowsy  reign, 

[104] 


The  Fireless  Town 


Wherein  there  was  no  movement  nor  no  pain, 

But  honeyed  longing  that  without  a  smart 

Brims  up  the  intricate  vessel  of  the  heart, 

And  promised  happiness  that  lightlier  lies 

Than  rose-petals  on  the  most  burning  eyes. 

Long  he  lay  motionless  in  such  a  trance, 

But  acrid  fire  began  again  to  advance 

And  stung  him,  that  he  had  not  heard  above 

A  new  beginning  of  the  toils  of  love, 

Nor  words  of  joy  nor  any  promises, 

Which  as  the  gift  itself  the  unpractised  lover  please. 

Then  in  that  stillness  fear  got  room  to  throw 

A  panic  in  his  heart  and  check  the  flow 

Of  the  delighted  blood;  one  dark  thought  sped 

From  heart  to  hands.     What  if  the  girl  were  dead, 

Slain  by  the  labour  that  for  love  she  bore? 

Michael  leapt  up;  the  basket  trembled  sore, 

Yet  sorer  shook  his  limbs,  and  as  he  stared, 

Darkness  replied  above  and  he  despaired. 

While  thus  he  languished  in  his  bitterness 
Behind  his  back  a  murmur  'gan  to  press 
From  the  singing  far  away,  towards  the  lane, 
Strayed  echoes  of  the  festival  refrain 
That  louder  grew  until  the  very  sound 
Did  from  the  high  and  shadowy  walls  rebound 
And  wake  him  from  the  stupor,  so  that  he 
Turning  beheld  the  alley  suddenly 
Filled  with  a  shouting  mob,  whose  torches  flung 
Light  in  the  dark  air,  where  amazed  he  hung, 
And  in  whose  web  of  interwoven  noise 

[105] 


The  Fireless  Town 


He  heard  first  one  and  then  another  voice, 
That  cried  his  name  aloud  and  bade  him  climb 
The  further  way  nor  longer  wait  on  time 
But  of  himself  to  assure  felicity. 
Then,  at  the  cawing  of  that  rookery, 
Blood  filled  his  splitting  brain,  his  burning  eyes 
Darkened  and  swelled,  he  felt  his  arteries 
Straining  and  giving  and  his  hands  clenched  tight 
Upon  the  swaying  rope.     But  still  the  light 
Derisive  roar  pleased  itself  below, 
Numbing  his  brain  in  his  pride's  overthrow. 
He  would  have  fled  them,  but  he  could  not  flee, 
Would  have  ignored  them,  yet  could  not  but  see, 
Till  at  the  last  anger  possessed  him  too 
And  pride  returned  and  courage  from  them  grew, 
And,  turning  on  the  crowd,  he  would  have  spoken 
But  by  the  noise  beneath  his  words  were  broken, 
Thrown  high  and  scattered  in  the  silent  night 
That  lay  acalm  above  the  crowd's  delight. 
Silence!  he  cried  again.     His  mockers  still 
Derided  him,  men  loud  and  women  shrill, 
But  the  third  time  he  used  such  vehemence, 
Such  thunder  in  his  voice  and  so  immense 
A  gesture  of  his  spread  and  threatening  hand 
That  all  grew  quieter,  as  the  poplars  stand 
Whispering  between  the  onslaughts  of  the  storm, 
And  stared  like  fools  upon  his  swaying  form. 
Then  in  that  silence  mightily  he  said: 
I  will  be  gentle,  though  about  my  head 
Your  brutal  mockeries  spin  and  though  I  see 
The  trick  the  wanton  girl  has  played  on  me. 

[106] 


The  Fireless  Town 


I  will  be  gentle.     Helen!  make  an  end, 

Lest  I  should  do  what  you  can  never  mend. 

Free  me  and  let  me  down.     A  quietness  fell, 

Wherein  the  trees'  low  sigh  was  audible 

And  nothing  else.     He  heard  no  sound  above, 

No  sign  of  her  repentance  or  her  love; 

The  rope  hung  still  and  taut.     But  now  beneath, 

First  came  a  whisper,  then  a  rising  breath, 

And  lastly  uproar,  wherein  no  word  was, 

But  as  the  wind  and  wave  contend  in  tongueless  cause. 

But  that  great  crying  fell  as  it  began; 

From  group  to  yelling  group  a  silence  ran 

And  laid  a  finger  on  the  mouths  that  cried 

Till  in  low  murmurings  the  tumult  died 

And  Michael  spoke  again,  slow,  heavy  words, 

That  floated  through  the  hush  like  ominous  birds. 

I  have  not  learnt,  he  said,  the  trivial  spell 

That  can  a  woman's  mutinous  heart  compel. 

But  I  who  am  weak  in  dealing  with  desire 

Can  yet  constrain  earth,  water,  air  and  fire, 

And,  for  this  town  hath  mocked  me  and  since  one 

Hath  hurt  me  closer  than  all  your  taunts  have  done, 

I  make  return!     Henceforth  no  fire  shall  live 

Within  your  houses  and  the  fugitive 

Light  flame  that  dances  in  your  lanthorns  shall 

To  blackened  nothing  in  an  instant  fall. 

You  elements,  with  whom  I  dwelt  at  ease, 

Come  to  my  aid,  confound  mine  enemies! 

Out,  friendly  light  and  warmth!     Out,  every  flame! 

Back  to  the  yokeless  aether  whence  ye  came ! 

[107] 


The  Fireless  Town 


Thereon  a  strange  and  dizzying  thing  befell 

For,  quicker  than  the  magic  takes  to  tell, 

While  still  they  gaped,  they  suddenly  were  aware 

How  from  their  torches  into  the  still  air 

The  bright  fire  slipped  and  instantly  was  gone, 

Like  burning-plumaged  coveys,  journeying  on 

From  human  haunts  to  fabled  Araby. 

They  gazed  about  and  everywhere  could  see 

The  shining  casements  blackened  and  gone  blind, 

And  in  that  lightless  waste  no  man  could  find 

His  neighbour  or  his  friend.     Then  down  they  threw 

Their  useless  lanthorns  and  the  panic  grew; 

The  weaker  cried  and  wailed  with  piteous  voice 

And  the  dark  lane  re-echoed  with  the  noise 

Of  broken  men  and  women,  whose  dismay 

Spared  not  each  other  as  they  fled  away 

From  Michael's  wrath  and  left  him  hanging  there. 

And  now,  with  dreadful  whisperings,  despair 

Ran  through  the  town,  as  erst  the  darkness  ran, 

And  laid  on  every  house  its  gloomy  ban; 

Flint  lost  its  virtue  and  the  friendly  flame 

Lay  in  the  pebble  whence  before  it  came; 

There  was  no  moon,  the  stars  were  faint  and  few 

And  still  the  dreadful  night  was  hardly  half-way  through. 

Then  in  a  pitiful  agony  hurried  all 
To  that  dark  shadow  hanging  on  the  wall 
And  begged  with  breaking  voices  and  loud  sighs 
That  he  would  turn  on  them  compassionate  eyes 
And  give  them  back  again  their  patron,  flame. 
They  knelt  to  him  and  prayed  and  felt  no  shame, 

[108] 


The  Fireless  Town 


And  sobbed  and  stormed  at  him  in  unison: 
But  when  their  maudlin  beggary  was  done, 
He  answered  coldly :     What  you  now  entreat 
Cheaply  you  valued,  when  you  deemed  it  meet 
To  mock  one  greater  than  your  hearts  have  known. 
Suffer  together  now,  as  I  alone, 
And  have  the  heart  to  be  as  silent  as  I, 
Lest  I  should  turn  on  you  my  mockery. 
They  answered  him:     We  are  humble,  we  are  broken, 
We  kneel  to  you  and  offer  you  as  token 
Our  outstretched  hands  and  bended  heads  and  ask 
That  you  will  set  on  us  some  heavy  task 
To  prove  our  single  heart.     But  he  replied: 
Were  I  to  yield,  your  tears  would  not  be  dried, 
The  dust  be  hardly  scattered  from  your  knees 
Ere  you  would  charm  away  your  promises 
More  easily  than  I  your  lanthorns  quelled. 
A  deep  low  groan  from  all  that  concourse  welled 
And  sank  again  in  harsh  and  sullen  sound, 
Like  lost  winds  on  a  waste  and  barren  ground. 
Dumbly  they  waited;  silently  he  stood, 
Raised  as  a  judge  upon  that  multitude; 
Sound  slept  and  time  stood  still;  neither  he  nor  they 
Knew  how  far  night  had  gone  along  her  way 
Before  he  spoke  again :     O  little  creatures, 
That  dare  not  face  the  night,  without  all  nature's 
Coddling  and  cherishing  and  friendliness 
But  catch  affrighted  at  her  swinging  dress 
For  warmth  and  shelter  and  as  little  know 
Herself  as  the  dumb  beasts  that  creeping  go, 
I'll  stand  no  more  between  you  and  your  nurse; 

[109] 


The  Fireless  Town 


A  little  thing  shall  take  away  my  curse. 
When  I  have  ended  what  is  here  begun 
And  my  long  journey  up  the  wall  is  done, 
And  I  have  taken  what  is  promised  me, 
Once  more  in  torch  and  lanthorn  burning  free 
The  gallant  flame  shall  scare  this  cold  inanity! 
All  shuddered  and  none  spoke;  their  whispering 
Moved  in  the  darkness  like  a  living  thing, 
A  tense  and  deeply  breathing  animal 
That  could  through  tight  and  trembling  bodies  crawl 
And  draw  existence  from  their  agony. 
From  no  man's  throat,  and  yet  from  all,  a  cry 
Rose  thinly  up  and  offered  him  his  will 
With  their  submission.     But  he  heard  them  still 
With  scorn  and  answered  not.     And  Helen  lying 
Hid  in  her  chamber  mused  upon  that  crying, 
How  once  these  maddened  men  were  hers  to  rule 
And  each  before  her  stood  an  equal  fool, 
Stammered  when  she  spoke  and  simpered  at  her  smile 
And  sought  with  tedious  homage  to  beguile 
Her  heart  impregnable.     She  could  not  hear 
Their  vows  below  for  cold  and  sickening  fear 
That  drowned  her  spirit,  yet,  in  that  forlorn 
Deep  night,  a  sudden  doubtful  star  was  born, 
A  flickering  spark  she  scarcely  could  descry 
That  moved  and  winked  and  cheated  still  her  eye, 
And  yet  at  last,  the  more  she  thought  thereon, 
With  steady  and  with  friendly  radiance  shone; 
For  she  imagined  in  that  dreadful  hour 
An  iron  courage  and  a  golden  power 
And  Michael  standing  over  all  the  crowd, 

[110] 


The  Fireless  Town 


Strong  as  they  weak  and  quiet  as  they  loud. 

She  saw  nought  else  but  this;  she  did  not  see 

A  trembling  and  a  ruffian  two  or  three 

That  came  to  draw  the  too  long  idle  rope 

And  grin  at  her  from  time  to  time,  in  hope 

Through  the  thick  shade  to  see  her  blushing  deep 

Or  hear  her  praying  them  or  hear  her  weep. 

Her  thoughts  were  what  the  tree's  are,  when  the  wind 

Strips  the  light  petals  off  and  leaves  the  fruit  behind. 

Outside  they  saw  with  hot  and  starting  eyes 
Slow  in  the  dark  the  heavy  basket  rise 
And  saw  a  shadow  from  the  shadow  climb 
And  slip  into  the  casement.     Tardy  time 
Stood  still  again  and  so  immense  a  hush 
Reigned  in  the  town  that  an  uneasy  bush 
Rubbing  its  boughs  together  seemed  as  though 
A  mighty  storm  in  mighty  trees  did  blow; 
So  long  the  moment  was  that  men  believed 
Night's  cog  was  slipped  or  time's  old  hour-glass  thieved, 
That  day's  sweet  advent  was  for  ever  past 
And  that  the  rolling  world  was  stayed  at  last. 
Then  one  cried:     Look!  and  all  together  cried, 
For  this  man  in  his  lanthorn  light  had  spied 
And  that  had  seen  a  blackened  kitchen-fire 
Glow  faintly  into  crimson  and  expire 
And  glow  again.     Then  in  a  rush  of  light 
The  gabled  houses  stood  out  tall  and  bright, 
Lit  by  a  lucid  flood  that  overshone 
All  that  the  human  eye  can  gaze  upon, 
Nor  could  they  lift  their  lids  again  to  see 

[111] 


The  Fireless  Town 


Until  it  sank  in  peaceful  radiancy. 

And  then  a  glow  ineffably  serene, 

Sleeping  on  every  torch  and  wick  was  seen, 

A  friendly  light,  so  friendly,  that  a  strange 

Beatitude,  a  soft  and  melting  change, 

Soothed  the  wild  heart  and  filled  the  uneasy  breast 

With  golden  hopes  of  joy  and  silver  hopes  of  rest. 


[112] 


THE  QUEEN  OF  CHINA 
A  POEM 

"  How  we  spun 

A  shroud  of  talk  to  hide  us  from  the  sun 
Of  this  familiar  life" 


CHARACTERS 

THE  KING 

THE  PRINCE 

THE  GENERAL 

THE  CHAMBERLAIN 

Two  ITALIAN  TRAVELLERS 

AN  OLD  SCHOLAR 

THREE  DOCTORS 

A  YOUNG  COURTIER 

Two  SENTRIES 

THE  PRINCE'S  SERVANT 

THE  QUEEN 
Two  SLAVE  GIRLS 
A  GIRL'S  VOICE 

Place.     Various  parts  of  the  Royal  Palace  of  China. 
Time.     In  the  Fourteenth  Century  of  the  Christian  Era. 


FIRST  ACT 


FIRST  ACT 

Courtyard   of   the   Royal   Palace    in   the    capital   of   China. 
Enter  the  KING  and  the  GENERAL. 

GENERAL 
You  are  in  haste,  my  lord? 

KING 

I  still  must  haste 

To  catch  the  light  before  it  flies  from  me, 
And  now  the  council  gathers.     You  are  called: 
Will  you  not  come? 

GENERAL 

I  have  dispatches. 

KING 

Well? 
To  read  in  council? 

GENERAL 

Ours  alone  at  first, 

Not  to  be  judged  on  hastily  nor  thrown 
Unthought  on  to  the  common  ear,  so  grave, 
So  large  with  menace  are  their  languages 
And  yet  so  full  of  chance.  .  .  . 

[117] 


The  Queen  of  China 


KING 

Of  chance?     Speak  on; 
I  listen. 

GENERAL 

These  are  from  the  Tartar  border 
Where  now  the  wretched  villages  in  flame 
Prophesy  woe  to  come  with  smoky  tongues. 
The  foe  is  out, 

His  army  largely  set  and  ravaging 
Our  lands  unshielded.     Up  and  down  the  marches 
Our  scanty  soldiers  move  in  desperate  packs 
And  hold  their  line  with  peril. 

KING 

And  the  army? 
Are  all  our  troops  at  move? 

GENERAL 

An  hour  ago 

I  set  our  messengers  on  every  road. 
The  governors  are  stirring  to  the  work, 
My  missives  dropping  in  the  cantonments 
Inflame  their  hearts  already.     Have  no  fear 
Nor  doubt  success.     We'll  push  them  back  again 
Until  their  host  in  ruin  overtopples 
Like  a  young  foolish  horse  that  rears  and  falls, 
Crushing  his  rider  under  him.     We'll  have  them  down. 

KING 
Why,  this  is  well. 

[118] 


The  Queen  of  China 


GENERAL 

And  yet  not  well  enough. 

For  now  we  may  with  just  excuse  and  much 
Indulgence  of  our  purpose  scald  the  sore 
That  festers  in  our  side.     I'd  raise  an  army, 
More  than  the  border  hath  these  twenty  years 
Trembled  beneath  the  tread  of.     Then  their  land 
Shall  lie  unfended  from  our  blow  and  crouch 
Beaten  and  bloody,  begging  clemency, 
And  offer  tribute  as  a  recompense 
And  be  a  province. 

KING 

These  are  weary  schemes 
And  bloody  projects  and  we  two  are  old. 
Our  days  in  the  field  are  done,  our  lances  much 
Out  of  the  fashion  and  our  banners  set 
Below  the  newer  time.     Vain  words  to  me! 
A  speech  for  younger  soldiers  —  for  my  son. 

GENERAL 
Your  son.  .  .  . 

KING 

You  speak  with  such  a  heavy  tongue 
The  two  reluctant  syllables,  your  mouth 
Trembles,  your  eyes  avoid  my  eyes  — 

GENERAL 

Your  son.  .  .  . 

KING 
What  would  you  say  then? 

[119] 


The  Queen  of  China 


GENERAL 
My  dear  lord,  you  know 

KING 

My  son's  not  whole,  my  son  is  heavy  and  sick. 
He  hath  a  dropsy  of  thought,  his  swoln  affections 
Clog  him  and  hamper  him.     I  know  it  all. 
I  have  observed  him  and  you  observing  him; 
Often  the  same  thoughts  lay  in  our  two  brains, 
By  silence  and  by  shame  dissevered.     Gladly 
I'd  give  an  army  to  him  for  the  toy 
That  princely  youth  delights  in. 

GENERAL 

0  dear  Lord! 

Stands  it  on  this?     Must  we  attend  his  sickness? 
Will  you  not  take  the  battle  for  an  ease 
Of  all  your  care  in  watching  over  him? 

KING 

I  am  too  old 

And  age  hath  sucked  my  plenitude  of  desire; 
The  vessels  are  dried  up, 

Wherein  the  hot  and  maddening  lymph  resided 
That  urges  men  to  conquest.     This  will  be 
A  mighty  war  for  glory  and  renown  — 
You  speak  an  ancient  tongue,  a  dialect 
My  lips  have  lost  the  use  of.     I  have  known 
Glory,  the  toy  that  young  men  die  to  purchase, 
Gilded  with  blood  and  cried  up  with  men's  groans, 
An  object  of  desire,  a  precious  taste, 

[120] 


The  Queen  of  China 


But  I've  no  relish  in  it,  being  old. 

If  my  son's  blood  were  young  as  are  his  years. 

GENERAL 

Wise  huntsmen  sometimes  take  an  ailing  hound 
Out  to  the  coursing-places  that  he  knew 
And  let  him  scent  the  quarry  for  a  cure. 

KING 
Well  like  a  huntsman  spoken! 

GENERAL 

He  that  knows 

Nature  of  dog  and  horse  is  wise  enough 
To  govern  many  men. 

KING 

Is  this  not  he, 

That  slowly  walks  along  the  avenue? 
Speak  with  him  warily.     I'll  try  your  cure 
And  trust  your  skill  in  venery.     Here  he  comes. 
(The  PRINCE  enters.) 

PRINCE 
I  wish  you  happiness,  dear  father. 

KING 

And  I 

Wish  you  more  spirit  and  a  cheerful  look 
To  front  the  morning  with. 

[121] 


The  Queen  of  China 


GENERAL 

Good  prince,  brave  youth, 
Are  you  a  youth  indeed  or  older  than  we? 
For  on  your  brow  anticipating  age 

Hath  traced  his  plot  of  ground  and  marked  his  jointure 
Before  his  claim's  allowed  by  natural  sense 
Or  any  judgement. 

PRINCE 

I  am  sad,  I  own, 
And  look  not  brightly  out  nor  think  not  bravely. 

KING 
What  ails  you  then? 

PRINCE 

Why,  sir,  I  cannot  tell 

What  strange  infection  spreads  along  my  veins 
And  drowses  in  my  heart.     I  am  not  sick, 
Not  fevered,  coughing,  palsied,  none  of  these, 
Nor  visited  with  pain.     O,  let  me  rest, 
For  my  disease  hath  touched  the  will  of  youth 
To  be  at  work  and,  were  my  labour  done 
In  sixty  heavy  years,  I  could  not  be 
More  weary  or  more  out  of  love  with  life 
And  lifeless  in  my  love. 

KING 
What,  boy,  you  love? 

PRINCE 

Only  the  world  and  what  therein  doth  stand 
I  counted  formerly,  as  lovers  count 

[122] 


The  Queen  of  China 


Their  mistresses'  most  delicate  delights, 
But  earth  no  longer  pleases  my  dull  eyes. 
Let  me  alone,  most  gracious  lord,  for  this 
Is  but  a  male  green -sickness,  want  of  blood 
That  duly  not  performs  its  proper  task 
To  feed  the  passions. 

GENERAL 

When  you  carried  arms 

And  sat  your  horse  and  led  your  troop,  you  looked  not 
So  faintly  mooded.     You  were  strong  of  hand 
And  sometimes  I  could  see  your  parted  lips 
Whisper  a  silent  song  to  company  you 
In  time  with  the  horse's  gallop.     We  have  ridden, 
Where  the  dim  morning  struggled  with  the  mist 
On  the  wide  plain,  before  the  ranked  army, 
Galloping  side  by  side  and  marshalling 
The  fiery  soldiers.     You  were  happy  then, 
Quick  to  command  and  rapid  in  your  sight, 
And  no  disease  fretted  your  body  thus 
With  cruel  teeth  to  make  an  ornament 
Of  woe  and  stricken  flesh.     0  come  with  me, 
For  there's  adventure  yet  and  troops  to  lead 
And  smoke  and  dust  to  snuff  where  men  contend. 

PRINCE 
I  have  forgotten  all  you  speak  of  now. 

GENERAL 

The  Tartars  insolently  ride  their  horses 
Over  the  ash  of  our  burnt  villages! 

[123] 


The  Queen  of  China 


KING 

If  arms  could  win  my  son  from  his  disease, 
I'd  make  a  war  for  medicine  and  reckon 
The  ravaged  border  but  a  blister  set 
To  draw  the  kingdom's  humours. 

PRINCE 

Dear  my  lord, 

King  reverenced,  father  loved,  and  both  obeyed 
With  all  humility  and  all  affection, 
If  I  am  slow  in  taking  up  the  word 
That  now  you  cast  to  me,  I  have  no  fear. 
I  would  not  set  one  penny  on  my  life 
Nor  take  a  step  aside  from  waiting  death: 
But  I  am  spiritless  and  ill  at  ease 
And  would  not  wear  my  mail  nor  sit  my  horse. 
I  am  sick,  I  am  sick  and  will  not  touch  the  lance 
Nor  lift  the  sword  nor  set  my  foot  in  stirrup 
But  still  with  drooping  head  and  unlit  face 
Go  pacing  on  my  ways  about  the  court 
And  let  the  months  run  by  uncounted  still. 

GENERAL 

May  the  gods  give  you  a  more  morning  mood 
And  something  better  rising  in  your  heart. 
You  were  not  so. 

KING 

Nor  I,  when  I  was  young. 
[124] 


The  Queen  of  China 


GENERAL 

No,  by  the  gods!     You  were  a  lusty  boy, 
Save  when  a  lady  flouted  you.     Shame  upon  you, 
Dear  prince,  to  languish  so  without  a  cause! 
No  wound,  no  ailment  nor  no  hurt  of  love 
Can  you  advance  in  reason.     You  confess 
That  you  have  borne  a  thin  and  general  love 
To  all  creation  and  dispersed  your  heart 
Unthriftily  on  the  world  and  thus  you  are  sick 
Of  mere  philosophy.     Man,  love  your  horse 
And  tend  your  arms  and  cherish  one  beside, 
A  lady,  any  lady,  and  be  glad 
A  soldier  wants  so  little  to  be  glad. 

PRINCE 

I  am  no  soldier,  I! 
I  find  no  sweetness  in  the  emulation 
Of  giving  death  or  braving  it. 
Count  me  an  emptied  man,  a  youthful  dotard, 
Who  totters  down  his  early  years  and  fades 
Out  of  the  bright-aired  places  that  he  knew, 
Too  dull  to  be  regretful.     So's  my  humour, 
Still  to  be  sad,  still  to  be  unaroused, 
And  let  my  passions  rot  or  rest  in  peace. 

GENERAL 

But  hear  what's  now  on  foot.     A  moment  yet! 
You  have  not  understood. 

KING 

We  cannot  move  him. 

I  dreamt  —  we  both  were  foolish.     Let  it  pass 

[125] 


The  Queen  of  China 


And  let  the  years  have  sway.     In  his  high  season, 
Fair  unadorned  youth  will  scare  these  mists 
And  show  himself  with  burning  face  arisen 
Over  the  astonished  country  ere  we  die. 
I'll  leave  unstirred  the  waters  of  my  grief: 
These  arguments  are  like  the  wands  wherewith 
Boys  puddle  in  a  stagnant  pool  and  raise 
Bubbles  of  nauseous  air,  from  slime  corrupted, 
That  chokes  the  heart  with  sickness.     Did  I  linger 
Too  much  on  this  or  think  it  past  all  hope, 
The  happiness  that  fills  my  flowing  days 
Were  poisoned  at  the  root.     0,  plead  no  more! 

(Enter  the  CHAMBERLAIN.) 

CHAMBERLAIN 

Great  king,  the  dragon-throne  is  set 
And  ringed  with  all  your  guards  in  golden  mail. 
The  reverend  mandarins  are  crowding  in 
And  lose  their  several  wisdoms  in  the  crowd 
With  pushings,  stampings  and  revilings.     Now 
The  Queen  is  on  her  way. 

KING 

Come,  my  old  friend; 
My  son,  your  place,  though  dumb,  is  at  my  side. 

PRINCE 

My  place  in  council  suits  well  with  my  mind, 
For  there  the  young  are  licensed  to  be  dumb. 

[126] 


The  Queen  of  China 


GENERAL 

This  is  a  damnable  virtue  in  a  youth 
To  obey  so  readily  what  age  prescribes. 
Youth  should  be  chidden  and  give  cause  to  chide; 
Iron's  not  forged  except  it  glowing  be. 

KING 

Let  us  go  in,  old  fellow.     Youth  refuses 
The  high  adventure  we  have  offered  it. 
There  are  no  wars  now,  swords  are  out  of  fashion. 
(They  go  in.     Two  SENTRIES  take  up  their  posts  at  the  gate.) 

IST  SENTRY 
There  are  wars  going.     Did  you  hear  the  general? 

2ND  SENTRY 

I  heard  something.  I  heard  two  old  men  bewailing  their 
age  and  that  they  might  not  lead  us  youngsters  to  be  killed 
like  willing  horses  under  their  palsied  legs.  Make  no  account 
of  it  all  but  lean  on  your  pike,  my  lad,  and  take  it  easy. 
The  pike  is  wood  and  we  flesh,  it  senseless  and  we  weary; 
let  it  do  our  work. 

IST  SENTRY 

Stand  up  to  your  work,  you  crookjbacked  soldier.  The 
wooden  shaft  will  feel  the  Serjeant's  cane  more  kindly  than 
your  shoulders,  if  he  finds  you  stooping  on  guard,  like  an 
old  man  mending  a  shoe. 

2ND  SENTRY 

You  are  wise  and  witty  and  pretty  and  smutty  and  full  of 
good  advice. 

[127] 


The  Queen  of  China 


IST  SENTRY 
Look!  there's  a  shadow  coming  through  the  doorway. 

2ND  SENTRY 
Stand  where  you  are  or  I'll  stick  you! 

(The  Two  TRAVELLERS  enter.) 

IST  SENTRY 

Not  like  that!  Is  that  language  for  the  king's  guard? 
Halt  where  you  stand,  strangers,  and  give  me  an  account 
of  yourselves  or  you  shall  taste  affliction. 

2ND  SENTRY 

Very  noble!  Very  praiseworthy!  Do  but  stick  them  in 
so  formal  a  manner  and  they  will  die  in  the  politest  agony. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

We  are  known,  good  soldier,  we  are  customed  here: 
Let  us  but  one  step  further  in  to  find 
Good  friends  and  many. 

2ND  SENTRY 

Not  a  step.  You  have  such  villainous  brown  faces  as  if 
you  had  been  overbaked  in  hell,  and  such  sharp  long  noses 
that  you  might  have  bored  your  way  out  of  the  oven  there- 
with. And  you  have  round  eyes,  not  like  ours. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

We  are  foreigners 
And  yet  not  enemies. 

[128] 


The  Queen  of  China 


2ND  TRAVELLER 

Stand  off,  young  fool, 

Whom  half  a  month  of  half-learnt  drill  hath  taught 
To  tyrannize  and  threaten  with  the  pike, 
That  trembles  in  your  clumsy  fingers. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

Still! 

Enough  of  quarrelling  words.     Good  soldier,  go 
And  fetch  the  ancient  Chamberlain,  whom  we  knew. 
His  warrant  will  suffice  to  stamp  us  friendly 
And  worthy  of  admission. 

2ND  SENTRY 

I'll  go.  I  know  the  Chamberlain  and  I'll  stretch  my  legs 
looking  for  him.  Hold  them  off,  comrade,  put  your  pike 
at  their  bellies  and  entertain  them  with  pleasant  words.  I'll 
be  a  messenger. 

(He  goes  out.) 

IST  SENTRY 

Stay  where  you  are,  gentlemen,  or  in  all  kindliness  I 
must  prick  you.  I  bear  you  no  ill  will,  I  am  your  most 
obedient  servant,  but  if  you  move  a  step,  I'll  let  your 
blood. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 
A  courteous  cut-throat! 

IST  TRAVELLER 

See,  the  Chamberlain 
Approaches,  almost  hasting! 

(The  CHAMBERLAIN  enters.) 
[129] 


The  Queen  of  China 


Do  you  know  us? 

Do  our  countenances  in  your  memory  hold 
Or  hath  not  amity  such  preserving  stuff 
To  keep  our  pictures  constant  in  your  eyes? 

CHAMBERLAIN 

I  know  you  not.  ...  I  know  you!     Is  it  true? 
You  are  here  again,  old  friends? 

IST  TRAVELLER 

After  long  leagues 
On  camel-back  across  the  bitter  sands 
That  are  more  salt  than  is  the  merciless  sea 
And  not  so  beautiful. 


CHAMBERLAIN  , 

But  you  are  here, 

New  washed  and  cleanly  clothed,  with  happy  faces, 
Among  your  ancient  though  your  alien  friends. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

We  have  come  to  you  again,  I  know  not  why, 

For  surely  there  is  joy  in  Lombardy; 

The  clear  white  wine  is  made  there  and  the  women 

Are  also  clear  and  white  and  straight  and  tall 

And  the  grey  olives  grow  upon  the  hills 

In  sunshine  no  less  generous  than  this. 

But  we  have  ridden  on  horses,  mules  and  camels 

And  crossed  wide  seas  in  many  dangerous  ships 

To  be  with  you  again. 

[130] 


The  Queen  of  China 


IST  TRAVELLER 

Is  there  no  news? 

Or  is  the  kingdom  still  as  when  we  left  it, 
Placid  and  sleepy  and  daily  growing  fat 
On  the  rich  harvest  of  the  river-mud? 
Have  not  the  Tartars  once  come  down  like  hail 
To  rumple  the  silk  skirts  of  your  fair  women 
And  slay  your  wise  men  in  their  libraries? 

CHAMBERLAIN 

You  have  gone  and  come  again  as  to  your  home 
After  a  day  of  absence.     Still  the  river 
Leaves  its  deposit  on  the  layered  shore 
And  there  the  corn  and  soft  green  rice-stalks  grow 
Each  year  in  greater  plenty,  maize  and  millet 
Choke  up  the  fields  and  block  the  winding  valleys 
In  wealthiest  abundance.     Still  the  people 
Are  placid,  sleepy  and  have  every  day 
More  than  is  time  enough  to  sun  themselves 
Outside  the  doorways  of  their  light-built  houses. 
All  these  things  are  the  same.     Go  you  about 
And  look  for  what  is  changed  in  any  street 
And  you'll  not  find  one  house  built  or  pulled  down. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 
And  the  court? 

CHAMBERLAIN 

The  court  —  ay,  there  a  change  might  be, 
For  peoples  change  not  but  a  king  grows  old 
And  alters  love  and  chooses  better  friends 
To  guide  his  counsel  or  delight  his  heart. 

[131] 


The  Queen  of  China 


The  old  king  dies  and  burns  his  life  away 
Daily  like  a  glowing  ember  in  a  draught: 
The  keen  air  of  youth's  passionate  ideas 
Blows  through  his  aged  brain  and  fans  it  up 
Into  consuming  fire. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

He  is  lunatic? 

Is  that  what  you  would  say?     An  old  man  mad? 
Perhaps  he  has  a  new  wife  in  his  bed 
And  wastes  his  scanty  breath  in  loving  her. 

CHAMBERLAIN 

He  has  taken  a  new  wife  into  his  house 
And  yet  his  hands  have  not  unloosed  her  girdle, 
So  much  he  holds  her  high  in  reverence. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

A  new  queen  wears  the  crown,  the  king's  a  lover! 
And  gone  back  fifty  years  in  boyishness 
Sickly  to  glance  upon  a  maiden's  zone! 
On  with  your  news;  discourse! 

CHAMBERLAIN 

O  beauty  long 

Has  never  lightened  these  dim  walks  and  ways, 
But  now  she  dwells  among  us  as  a  queen 
And  holds  her  court  with  us. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

The  old  king  loves 

This  newly  planted  slip  of  beauty,  this 
Stranger  unheard  of  by  the  men  we  knew? 

[132] 


The  Queen  of  China 


CHAMBERLAIN 

He  loves  her  and  she  lives  alone 
In  the  pavilion  yonder  by  the  lake, 
And  sleeps  alone. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

We  come  from  countries  where  men  honestly 
Lie  if  the  need  be  but  dress  up  no  riddles 
That  cloak  the  truth  and  leave  its  heart  unchanged. 
Old  chamberlain,  your  narrow,  wrinkled  eyes 
Perplex  me. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

Peace!  the  manner  of  these  strange  men 
Is  to  conceal.     We  grow  too  old,  we  two, 
And  too  much  versed  in  our  wide  travelling 
To  cry  this  land  up  and  that  land  down. 
All  peoples  are  bright  butterflies  to  me, 
Rejoicing  me  in  variance.     As  well  desire 
That  all  the  birds  of  the  earth  should  sing  one  song 
As  that  all  men  should  show  one  face  to  us. 

CHAMBERLAIN 

Yet  have  I  spoken  truth.     The  king's  new  wife 
Is  virgin  still. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

And  you  called  her  beauty's  self? 
Or  is  she  some  princess  from  lower  China, 
As  stiff  and  ugly  as  the  treaty-seal 
Whose  part  she  plays? 

[133] 


The  Queen  of  China 


CHAMBERLAIN 

She  is  most  beautiful. 

And  therefore  the  king  mounts  not  her  chaste  bed, 
Because  he  dares  not  till  she  beckon  him. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

Is  he  become  a  dotard,  straitly  bound 
By  an  imaginary  chain  ?     0  sorrow ! 
That  the  great  wise  old  king  should  stoop  to  beg 
A  woman's  kisses  in  senility. 

CHAMBERLAIN 
She  is  a  slave, 

Her  father's  name  and  house  alike  unknown, 
Her  limbs  and  life  being  subject  to  the  law, 
To  whipping,  tearing,  branding  and  the  wheel 
If  she  should  disobey.     A  distant  Viceroy, 
Out  of  a  city  high  among  the  mountains, 
Sent  her,  a  chosen  gift,  to  please  the  king, 
With  fifty  mounted  men  to  be  her  guard. 
They  rode  around  her  sternly  with  drawn  swords, 
She  resting  in  their  midst  as  easily 
As  doth  a  slight  flower  in  a  fold  of  the  rocks 
Where  soil  has  gathered  and  birds  dropped  a  seed. 

IST  TRAVELLER 
Did  she,  on  seeing,  make  her  lord  a  slave? 

CHAMBERLAIN 

She  gave  the  king  a  letter  and  stood  mute 
With  folded  hands  before  the  dragon-throne 
And  quiet  lips  and  all  submissive  eyes. 

[134] 


The  Queen  of  China 


But  when  he  had  read  it  and  had  gazed  on  her 

He  drew  her  to  his  side  and  on  his  seat 

And  bade  her  rule  his  courtiers,  which  she  does 

With  words  and  glances,  drawing  reverence 

From  bearded  barons  and  old  generals. 

Even  the  ribald  young  men  of  the  court 

For  whom  to  jest  is  such  occasion  now 

Hush  their  light  tongues  and  gravely  speak  of  her 

With  worship. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

Do  you  speak  to  us  of  her, 
Catalogue  all  her  beauties  and  declare 
Her  virtues  to  us. 

CHAMBERLAIN 

It  was  recently 
You  called  me  old, 

Spoke  of  my  narrow  and  my  wrinkled  eyes, 
Too  narrow,  too  wrinkled  to  let  beauty  in, 
And  age  has  withered  up  my  lively  tongue 
That  cannot  now  discourse  of  lovely  things. 
There  are  younger  men  than  I  to  speak  of  her. 
(A  YOUNG  COURTIER  crosses  the  stage.) 

1ST  TRAVELLER  (approaching  him). 
Be  done  with  those  soft  dreams  your  eyes  betray, 
Young  lord,  and  tell  me  what  thing  is  the  queen? 

COURTIER 

She  is  an  arrow  flown  against  the  wind. 
(He  passes  out.) 
[135] 


The  Queen  of  China 


2ND  TRAVELLER 

The  one's  too  cold  to  speak  and  all  the  rest 
Too  hot  for  reason.     She's  a  woman  doubtless 
Who  in  the  crowd  of  dainty  courtiers 
Will  find  a  lover  nearly  to  her  choice 
And  make  the  best  of  him.     Till  then  she  keeps 
The  aged  doddering  king  out  of  her  bed 
And  by  a  feigned  mystery  chains  the  court 
In  worship  of  her. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

But  the  king  was  wise 
And  in  his  veins  the  blood  ran  still  and  true 
When  last  we  sojourned  here. 

CHAMBERLAIN 

The  king  is  wise 

But  now  his  wisdom  is  a  fierier  sort; 
Not  the  tame  learning  of  sedentary  sages 
But  a  fierce  active  knowledge  that  destroys 
And  feeds  upon  the  instrument  it  uses. 
He  rises  early,  goes  about  his  day 
With  such  quick  zest  and  uncontrolled  desire 
That  the  inmost  chambers  of  the  sacred  house 
Hear  now  a  sound  till  this  unknown  to  them, 
Rustling  of  royal  silks  in  haste  that  pass. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

0  marvellous  transformation!     The  old  grave  king 
Who  ruled  his  happy  kingdom  soberly, 
Surrounded  by  the  gravest  mandarins, 

[136] 


The  Queen  of  China 


That  ever  China  knew!     I  am  amazed. 
He  will  wear  armour  now  and  go  to  war, 
Waving  his  sword  beneath  the  dragon-banner, 
And  dream  of  conquest  like  an  untaught  boy. 


CHAMBERLAIN 

Deem  not  the  king  is  grown  again  a  child. 
He  is  most  wise,  I  say,  and  all  his  passions 
Are  governed  by  a  fire  beyond  our  sight. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

Are  you  too  fallen  a  slave  to  this  strange  girl? 

Behind  the  riddle  of  your  changeless  eyes 

I  half  see  mysteries  moving.     We  have  known 

In  our  own  land  how  courts  are  set  aflame 

And  princes  maddened  for  a  worthless  woman 

And  the  old  tales  tell,  which  we  hold  for  truth, 

How  empires  vaster  than  we  now  obey 

Hung  in  the  fingers  of  an  idle  queen, 

Such  power  has  beauty  had  in  Italy. 

But  here!     You  cluster  round  your  river  mud 

And  tend  the  rice-crop,  year  on  patient  year, 

And  the  grave  kings  succeed  eternally 

One  to  another  in  unbroken  peace. 

What  should  you  know  of  love  and  lust  and  war, 

Parricide,  matricide,  and  fratricide, 

Fire,  rapine  and  the  sheathless  thirsty  sword 

And  all  the  ills  that  women  bring  on  princes? 

I  will  not  yet  believe  it. 

[137] 


The  Queen  of  China 


IST  TRAVELLER 

How  stands  the  prince 
In  this  new  turmoil  of  the  wildered  court, 
Who  when  we  last  were  here  was  next  the  throne, 
His  father's  chosen  son? 

CHAMBERLAIN 

He  is  grown  grave. 

Even  as  the  king  has  waxed  in  youthfulness, 
So  he  in  gravity  and  the  look  of  years. 
You  were  his  friends  before  but  you'll  be  fortuned 
If  now  he  will  exchange  five  words  with  you. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 
The  court  is  surely  mazed. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

Changed  at  the  heart. 

And  yet  the  land  as  we  came  through  it  here 
Slept  on  its  old  and  well-remembered  sleep. 
The  light  junks  glided  on  the  yellow  stream, 
The  country,  right  and  left,  an  endless  field 
Of  greening  crops  in  tranquil  busyness 
Lay  like  a  sleepy  hive.     Your  working  people 
Stood  quietly  to  their  labour.     Yet,  in  our  absence, 
Time  has  been  busy  and  remorseless  change 
Fretting  away  the  features  of  our  love 
And  laying  down  strange  shapes  to  meet  our  touch. 
Even  here  the  halls  and  gardens  are  the  same: 
I  do  remember  that  old  climbing  jasmin, 
Whose  gnarled  roots  start  stiffly  from  the  ground 

[138] 


The  Queen  of  China 


In  writhen  nakedness  but  higher  up 

Burst  in  a  boundless  fountain  of  white  flowers. 

Here  in  this  garden  once  with  care  you  taught  me 

The  secrets  of  your  white-haired  scientists, 

Compass  and  printing-press  and  dreadful  dust, 

That  being  lit  will  blow  great  walls  apart, 

Secrets  I  carried  back  to  see  despised 

In  mine  own  native  land,  where  yet  they  grow 

—  And  now  one  secret  you  withhold  from  me. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

Who  is  this  man  that  walks  with  blackened  brow 
And  frowning  purpose?     Is  it  the  general 
That  swept  with  purifying  flame  the  hills 
Which  were  infect  with  rebels? 

CHAMBERLAIN 
It  is  he. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

Ask,  ask  of  him. 
(The  GENERAL  crosses  the  stage.) 

IST  TRAVELLER 

You  were  my  friend  when  first  I  visited 
The  court  of  China. 

(The  GENERAL  stands  and  stares  at  him.) 
Tell,  0  tell  me  now 

Who  is  this  queen,  this  mystery  shrouded  woman 
Who  captivates  the  king  and  wraps  up  all 
In  a  close-meshed  veil  of  sorcery? 

[139] 


The  Queen  of  China 


Tell  me,  I  pray  you,  for  you  are  a  man 
In  the  high  summer  of  a  human  life, 
Ripe  yet  not  buried  in  the  mound  of  years, 
Master  of  life,  experienced  in  death, 
Having  led  armies  and  commanded  men. 

GENERAL 
She  is  a  trumpet  blowing  to  distant  wars. 

IST  TRAVELLER 
You  tell  me  nothing  —  or  much. 

GENERAL 

No  more  —  no  more. 
(He  passes  out.) 

2ND  TRAVELLER 
Are  they  all  mad? 

CHAMBERLAIN 

The  court  is  breaking  up 
And  all  are  passing  out. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

Here  comes  the  prince 
With  chin  reposing  gravely  on  his  breast 
And  his  still  hands  folded  behind  his  back. 
I  dare  not  speak  to  him. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

But  I  will  speak 

Because  this  mystery  presses  on  my  heart. 

[140] 


The  Queen  of  China 


He  is  yet  young,  he  hath  not  thirty  years: 
His  icy  posture  is  not  natural 
Even  in  a  young  man  of  this  strange  land. 
Perhaps  to  see  his  ancient  friends  again 
Will  melt  his  blood  for  any  purposes. 
(The  PRINCE  enters.) 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

He  is  not  the  same  as  these  are,  for  his  face 
Is  sorrowful.     Here  there's  no  mystery. 
I  have  not  in  this  country  seen  a  man 
Whose  countenance  was  marked  as  this  man's  is, 
Showing  what  all  they  hide. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

Beloved  lord! 

We  are  two  travellers,  come  from  the  west, 
To  visit  China  once  again. 

PRINCE 

Be  welcome! 
The  chamberlain  shall  wait  on  you. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

You  know  us, 

If  but  your  royal  memory  carries  back 
A  few  years  past. 

PRINCE 

I  know  you,  yes,  I  know  you. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 
Accept  our  duty,  sir,  and  our  true  love, 

[141] 


The  Queen  of  China 


The  same  love  which  of  old  we  bore  to  you, 
Which  you  returned,  we  thought. 

PRINCE 

I  do  not  change, 

Though  a  slight  cause  may  make  me  moody  now 
And  scant  of  words.     I  know  you  well  indeed; 
You  are  the  brave  Italians  who  came 
First  of  your  race  to  visit  China's  court, 
With  whom  too  I  have  held  long  conference, 
Learning  the  ways  of  many  foreigners, 
As  is  most  meet  for  princes  so  to  do. 
Welcome  again!     You  see  I  am  uneasy 
But  it  is  nothing.     Cure  my  ills  with  words, 
Brave  words  and  coloured,  lit  by  distant  suns 
And  blown  by  many  winds.     You  are  welcome  here 
And  shall  have  what  you  will.     Come  you  for  trade? 

IST  TRAVELLER 

We  come  for  knowledge,  sir,  and  old  affection, 
And  all  we  ask  of  you  is  also  words, 
News  of  the  country  and  our  friends  herein. 

PRINCE 

Of  whom  count  me  the  chief,  at  least  in  kindness, 
To  serve  you  well,  if  not  in  your  esteem. 
I  am  as  you  see  me,  strong  in  body  and  heart, 
In  spirit  unperturbed,  as  formerly 
You  knew  me. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

And  the  king,  your  father,  sir? 
[142] 


The  Queen  of  China 


PRINCE 

As  well  as  I,  with  more  of  the  look  of  youth 
Than  I  can  claim  to.     He  is  busier, 
More  anxious  for  the  state,  as  years  pass  on, 
Leaving  each  year  a  dole  of  wisdom  with  him. 
He  will  rejoice  to  know  his  well-loved  roof 
Shelters  two  ancient  friends  once  more.     He  holds  it 
Inalienably  the  duty  of  a  king 
To  comfort  travellers  and  let  them  go 
Ready  to  come  again.     I'll  send  to  him. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 
And  the  new  queen? 

PRINCE 

What!  you  have  heard  of  her? 
Yet  she  is  not  of  the  number  of  your  friends. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

Her  fame  has  travelled  through  the  country,  sir, 
And  all  the  bumpkins  in  the  villages, 
When  they  speak  of  the  wonders  of  the  capital, 
Add:     And  the  king  has  taken  a  new  wife. 

PRINCE 

I  cannot  speak  of  her.     She  is  as  high 
Above  my  praise,  as  my  thoughts  of  her  are  higher 
Than  of  ought  else.     She  is  a  halcyon, 
Born  to  send  sunny  days  on  China. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

She 
Is  beautiful? 

[143] 


The  Queen  of  China 


PRINCE 

You  tempt  me  on,  good  friend, 
But  I  am  slow,  knowing  what's  out  of  reach, 
And  that's  her  picture  to  be  made  in  words. 
Had  I  a  poet's  golden  phrase  at  call 
And  golden  music  in  my  voice,  I  could  not 
Depict  her  in  her  loveliness,  detail 
The  curves  of  cheek  and  breast  and  arched  foot, 
Explain  the  eyes'  soft  splendour. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

In  our  land, 

Poets  tell  more  than  this  and  they  set  out 
How  she  spreads  wide  her  arms  to  take  her  lover, 
And  how  her  soft  lips  meet  and  answer  his 
Dumbly. 

PRINCE 

I  said  no  single  word  of  love, 
But  only  that  the  queen's  bright  excellence 
Is  far  beyond  my  praise.     O  she  is  lovely 
Even  as  a  pearl  new-taken  from  the  sea: 
She  moves  in  radiance  through  the  wildered  court 
And  the  gay  silks  that  hide  her  sweetly  flow 
About  the  rhythmic  motion  of  her  easy  limbs. 
You  know  how  we  wake  one  morning  here  to  find 
Outside  our  opened  windows  the  cherry-tree 
Suddenly  blooming.     Our  hearts  are  then  amazed 
And  falter  with  the  consciousness  of  beauty. 

(He  turns  half  away  and  is  silent.) 

[144] 


The  Queen  of  China 


IST  TRAVELLER  (softly). 
She  is  so  fair,  my  lord? 

CHAMBERLAIN  (secretly). 

He  wears  away 

And  perishes  in  contemplation 
Of  the  bright  queen.     0  woe,  woe  for  China! 

2ND  TRAVELLER  (secretly) . 

All  is  changed  then,  if  these  men  lose  their  masks 
And  in  their  narrow  Oriental  eyes 
Love  and  fear  show  so  plainly. 

PRINCE 

When  she  speaks, 

Like  the  strange  cadences  of  modal  songs, 
Her  words  at  once  perplex  and  charm  the  ear. 

(He  stops  as  if  choked,  and  sways  on  his  feet.) 

2ND  TRAVELLER 
Look  to  the  prince!     Quickly!     The  prince  is  falling! 

CHAMBERLAIN 

If  with  your  foreign  eyes  you'd  see  the  queen, 
She  walks  now  in  the  garden  to  the  lake; 
There  you  may  see  her,  she  in  yellow  silk. 
(The  TRAVELLERS  run  to  the  corner  of  the  scene  to  watch. 
The  PRINCE  falls  heavily  in  a  swoon.) 

CHAMBERLAIN  (bending  over  him). 
I  cannot  wake  him,  but  he  is  not  dead. 
Send  for  a  doctor  quickly! 

[145] 


The  Queen  of  China 


Isx  TRAVELLER  (turning  back). 

Could  you  see  her? 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

A  moment.     She's  a  wench  that's  well  enough 
But  yellow  as  these  Chinese  women  are, 
Though  not  so  much  as  they.     She  did  not  smile 
But  seriously  went  upon  her  way, 
Holding  a  fan.     What  did  you  see  in  her? 

IST  TRAVELLER 

Nothing,  for  I  am  old  and  my  weak  eyes 
Peered  watering  down  the  avenue  and  ached 
And  could  not  yet  descry  her.     I  grow  old 
And  can  see  nothing. 

CHAMBERLAIN 

Bring  a  doctor  quickly! 
The  prince  lies  yet  unstirring  in  his  swoon: 
I  cannot  wake  him! 

(As  the  TRAVELLERS  run  to  him  and  bend  over  the  PRINCE, 
the  Curtain  falls.) 


[146] 


SECOND  ACT 


SECOND  ACT 

The  QUEEN'S  Pavilion  in  the  gardens  of  the  palace.     The 
QUEEN  is  discovered  before  her  mirror. 

QUEEN 

Shall  I  put  almond-blossom  in  my  hair 
Or  flowers  of  jasmin?     Shall  I  tie  it  up 
With  yellow  silk  or  white?     Ah,  petty  fool, 
What  strange  and  small  perplexities  are  these 
And  womanish!  to  please  a  senseless  thing, 
An  unexpressioned  mirror,  night  by  night, 
That  nightly  shows  again  my  own  poor  praise 
And  mocks  me  in  reflexion. 

The  almond  blossoms  best  where  God  has  sown  it: 
Yonder  beside  the  sleeping  lake  it  stands, 
A  bare  tree  misted  over  with  faint  flowers, 
And  the  wind  gently  taps  a  loose  trail  to  and  fro, 
Shaking  the  perfume  free. 
How  still  the  time  is,  yet  the  air's  alive 
And  all  its  separate  particles  aquiver 
Work  madly  on  my  senses  and  my  veins 
Till  my  blood  runs  like  the  spilt  quicksilver 
Upon  the  chemist's  table,  that  not  rests 
But  smoothly  courses  on.     0  darling  flowers! 
Is  it  the  springtime  moving  in  my  body, 
The  soft  and  piercing  air  that  breathes  on  me, 

[149] 


The  Queen  of  China 


Is  it  the  sight  of  young  and  tender  grass, 

Creeping  across  the  lawn,  that  wakes  in  me 

This  sweet  and  poignant  restlessness  of  will? 

The  bright  tints  of  the  figured  silks  I  wear, 

The  soft-hued  shadows  lying  in  their  folds, 

Where  bird  and  beast  and  blossom,  strangely  worked 

In  golden  threads  and  silver,  are  confounded 

And  lie  together  in  a  shining  dusk, 

These  fair  and  gracious  things,  these  gorgeous  toys, 

And  the  living  emblems  of  the  happy  season 

Strike  and  afflict  mine  eyes  with  loveliness. 

Would  that  the  day  were  done  and  darkness  here! 

For  I  have  watched  through  ten  full  hours  of  light, 

From  the  pale  morning  to  this  coloured  time, 

And  every  minute  stuffed  with  sights  and  sounds, 

Odours  and  shapes  that  stab  the  naked  sense 

With  too  much  beauty  and  too  keen  a  joy; 

And  still  the  long  hours  float  upon  their  way, 

Large  with  contentment,  rich  with  happiness, 

And  in  conclusion  bring  the  night  with  them. 

Now  the  first  shades  are  stealing  on  the  earth 

And  weariness  upon  my  limbs  and  eyes: 

Already  I  can  feel  the  darkness  come 

With  sweet  relaxing  smells  and  larger  sounds, 

That  are  more  gentle,  and  the  gift  of  sleep.  .  .  . 

(Two  SLAVE-GIRLS  enter.) 
What  is  your  business  here?     I  would  be  private. 

1ST   SlAVE-GlRL 

Suffer,  0  shining  mistress,  that  we  braid 
With  tender  fingers  your  long  lustrous  hair 

[150] 


The  Queen  of  China 


And  knot  it  in  a  crown  upon  your  head. 
We  have  been  taught  by  many  years  and  whips 
Our  duty  to  a  queen  and  where  to  place 
Deftly  her  jewels  with  experienced  hands, 
How  to  arrange  the  falling  folds  of  silk 
Upon  her  breast  and  how  to  tie  her  shoes 
And  how  to  paint  her  eyebrows  and  her  lips 
With  carmine  and  dark  bistre. 
We  are  long  used  in  these  things,  we  have  learnt 
With  tears  and  bruises  and  the  steady  flow 
Of  our  own  warm  blood  running  down  our  heels 
Under  the  strokes  of  the  house-steward's  lash 
To  know  our  delicate  business.     Suffer  then 
That  we  may  wait  on  you  and  tend  your  beauty, 
That's  worthy  of  skill  so  many  tears  have  bought. 

QUEEN 

Ever  at  dusk  two  slave-girls  wait  on  me 
With  speeches  thus  entreating  in  their  mouths, 
Whom  still  I  send  away.     Is  there  no  end 
To  all  this  store  of  slaves  within  the  house? 
Are  not  the  last  yet  come?     I  have  no  need 
Of  tiring-maids  to  deck  me.     Mine  own  hands 
Are  feat  enough  to  drape  my  falling  silks, 
To  braid  my  hair  and  knot  it. 
Mine  own  eyes  and  my  mirror  do  suffice 
To  judge  where  lies  the  jewel  meetliest 
And  where  a  blossom.     Tell  the  steward  this: 
A  slave-girl  at  my  elbow  wearies  me, 
When  most  my  heart  desires  to  be  alone. 

[151] 


The  Queen  of  China 


2ND  SLAVE-GIRL 

Have  pity  on  us,  for  we  dare  not,  lady. 
What  use  are  we  except  to  tend  a  queen 
And  what  man  keeps  the  useless  in  his  home 
Save  with  extremity  of  evil  use? 
If  you  reject  us,  we  go  back  again 
To  curses  and  the  bare,  stiff  whipping-post, 
The  anguished  stripping  off  of  our  thin  gowns, 
The  cruel  cord  that's  tied  about  our  wrists 
And  the  whistling  leather  falling  on  our  backs, 
Until  our  flesh  vies  with  our  smarting  eyes 
And  weeps  red  tears,  as  they  weep  free  and  clear, 
Both  bitter  salt. 

IST  SLAVE-GIRL 

0  mistress,  be  inclined, 
Most  lovely  lady,  to  look  well  on  us. 
We  will  be  mute  when  we  shall  wait  on  you 
And  will  no  more  disturb  your  lonely  dreams 
Than  the  light  porcelain  upon  your  table 
Or  the  long  pin  that  holds  your  heavy  hair. 
We  are  but  things  that  live  to  do  you  service 
And  wait  on  beauty. 

QUEEN 

What  advantage  still 
Hope  you  in  serving  me?     What  liberty 
For  idleness  and  wantonness  and  plays 
More  full  of  freedom  than  your  state  allows? 

IST  SLAVE-GIRL 

Alas,  but  we  are  penned  and  prisoned  now, 

[152] 


The  Queen  of  China 


Who  are  so  young  that  every  day  seems  long 
And  yet  is  cruel  swift  in  robbing  us 
Of  precious  years  wherefrom  a  joy  is  due. 
We  should  have  pity  from  you,  who  can  tell 
How  freely  pity  should  be  given  to  youth, 
Licence  our  lovers  freely  to  entertain, 
Where  now  a  sour,  hard  steward  shuts  us  up, 
Bolts  close  our  doors,  watches  our  lattices 
For  sheets  let  down  or  candles  set  as  signs 
To  guide  our  pleasure. 

QUEEN 

And  'tis  thus  you'd  use  me? 
Make  me  a  lucky  darkness,  a  fortunate  corner 
To  hide  your  paramours? 

IST  SLAVE-GIRL 

0,  you  would  feel 

Compassion  for  our  state,  for  you  are  young 
And  know  how  greedily  time  eats  the  years 
Of  unused  youth. 

2ND  SLAVE-GIRL  (secretly}. 

Too  hot,  too  hot!     Be  cold! 
You  speak  new  words  to  her,  she  hath  not  loved. 

QUEEN 

You  know  this  frenzy,  then,  which,  poets  tell, 
Perplexes  men  and  women,  inflames  their  blood 
To  fevers  and  blushing  and  their  sensible  tongues 
To  utter  foolish  oaths?     I  have  not  loved. 

[153] 


The  Queen  of  China 


My  wits  are  quiet,  I  am  not  distraught, 
I  reason  unperturbed,  my  cheeks  are  cool, 
I  sleep  all  night  in  peace,  I  do  not  wake 
Murmuring  a  name  with  tears. 

1ST   SlAVE-GlRL 

0  are  you  happy? 

QUEEN 

I  have  so  smooth  and  delicate  a  life, 
I  cannot  tell.     I  live  from  day  to  day, 
So  thrilling  with  a  sweet  and  glad  unease 
In  expectation  of  tomorrow's  gladness, 
That  all  my  joy's  part  pain  and  want  of  rest. 

2ND  SlAVE-GlRL 

But  your  delight,  0  lady,  when  it  comes, 
Does  it  stop  up  your  pulses,  seal  your  eyes 
Against  the  passage  of  the  light-winged  hours 
And  fill  your  heart  so  that  you  lose  all  sense 
Of  earth  and  being  and  the  weight  of  time? 
For  this  is  love  and  to  find  this  we  love. 

QUEEN 

My  heart  beats  faster  sometimes  but  not  knocks 
Against  my  side  in  hasty  agony, 
Great  heavy  beats,  prolonged  and  intervalled, 
As  they  say  lovers'  do. 

1ST   SlAVE-GlRL 

But  when  our  hearts 

Burst  with  a  joy  we  cannot  tell  from  pain, 
We  know  we  love  indeed. 

[154] 


The  Queen  of  China 


QUEEN 

But  what  is  this? 

To  hold  debate  upon  a  metaphysic, 
A  very  nothing,  smoke  of  smoke,  begotten 
By  empty  heat  out  of  vacuity. 
You  have  too  much  tricked  me  with  your  idle  tales : 
This  is  enough,  begone.     Your  flesh  is  free, 
No  stripes  shall  mark  it,  no  blood  stain  it  more 
For  my  ingratitude.     Go  now  in  peace; 
Who  whips  you,  he  himself  shall  know  the  lash, 
As  the  king  loves  me.     Be  my  word  your  shield. 

1ST   SlAVE-GlRL 

Our  skill  is  wasted;  we  are  useless  things. 

2ND  SlAVE-GlRL 

Wasted  and  worse  than  useless,  for  the  queen 
Hath  shown  offence  at  us. 

IST  SLAVE-GIRL 

We  have  offended,  we  are  miserable, 
Unfit  to  attend  upon  so  bright  a  queen, 
And  all  our  lore  in  beauty  is  quite  lost. 
We  will  go  hence  and  creep  to  hide  in  shame; 
We  are  worthy  to  be  whipped  and  if  the  steward 
Dares  not  to  flog  us,  we  will  whip  each  other 
And  expiate  with  self-inflicted  blows 
Our  grave  offences. 

QUEEN 

Peace,  ye  noisy  children; 
The  air  is  quiet,  all  the  birds  are  hushed 

[155] 


The  Queen  of  China 


And  you  alone  make  echo  my  light  walls 
With  false  complaint  and  crying. 

IST  SLAVE-GIRL 

Look!     0  look! 

The  king  is  walking  down  the  avenue 
Wrapped  in  deep  converse  with  two  ancient  men. 
An  almond-petal  settles  on  his  beard.  .  .  . 

2ND  SlAVE-GlRL 

Let  us  be  gone.     His  frowning  wrinkled  face 
That  hath  no  kinship  with  our  youthful  cheeks 
Makes  me  afraid.     What  would  his  anger  be 
If  he  should  find  us  by  the  queen  refused? 
Let  us  escape  h'im. 

(The  KING  enters). 

KING 

Loud   and  loud  and  loud 
Swell  the  light  voices  down  the  avenue 
And  greet  me  coming  hither,  as  though  I  came 
Into  a  covert  full  of  springtime  birds. 

QUEEN 

Ah  me  ungrateful!     I  have  sent  again 
Your  gifts  away. 

KING 

Will  you  be  lonely  still 
And  still  reject  the  emblems  of  a  queen? 
Let  it  be  as  you  wish.     You  shall  be  pleasured, 
If  that  all  I  can  give  be  not  to  give. 
Get  you  hence,  children.     (The  SLAVE-GIRLS  go  out.) 

[156] 


The  Queen  of  China 


This  is  my  hour  of  colloquy  with  you, 

Most  sweet  refreshment  when  the  day  is  done. 

QUEEN 
I  am  your  slave. 

KING 

So   still   you   say, 

Which  is  another  I  should  deem  humility 
Put  on  for  mocking,  but  your  heart  is  true. 
Happy  am  I  to  have  so  fair  a  slave, 
So  wise  a  servant,  whom  another  king 
Would  not  dare  call  his  queen  or  come  to  her 
Save  with  gifts  loaded,  pain  expecting  eyes 
And  heart  bowed  down  for  tyranny  and  stripes. 
This  day  is  done, 

One  of  my  last,  for  I  draw  on  in  age 
And  there  is  nothing  that  is  left  of  it, 
Save  traces  of  the  sun  about  the  air, 
Unless  you  approve  my  deeds  and  give  them  savour 
With  good  words  and  sweet  nodding  of  the  head. 
Listen!     The  governor  of  the  Mountain  Province, 
Who  spoiled  a  poor  man's  patch  of  hard-raised  millet 
For  private  vengeance,  is  cast  down  and  shamed. 
Today  I  judged  him  in  the  attentive  court, 
Took  all  his  honours  from  him,  turned  him  off, 
Free  and  disgraced. 

QUEEN 

O  that  was  kingly  done! 

KING 

Now  he  shall  earn  his  bread  and  know  how  evil 
It  is  to  lose  a  treasure  hardly  earned. 

[157] 


The  Queen  of  China 


QUEEN 

0  it  is  evil  to  be  robbed  of  all, 

Stripped,  beaten  down.     The  poor  must  still  be  sad; 

They  lose  so  much  because  they  have  so  little 

And  the  thin  meal,  that  would  disgust  our  stomachs, 

Is  doubly  bitter  set  upon  their  tables, 

Seasoned  with  doubt  and  sauced  with  aching  fear. 

Tell  me,  the  harbour-master  of  the  port, 

Who  thieved  from  the  poor  fishermen  half  their  catch, 

When  they  brought  their  salt  vessels  to  his  piers, 

How  has  he  fared  today?     I  much  misliked 

The  stout  and  prosperous  seeming  of  his  face 

Against  the  pinched  and  pitiful  regard 

Of  his  accusers.     He  were  guilty  enough 

To  have  ruled  so  fatly  over  men  so  thin. 

KING 

1  had  a  paper  from  the  governor 
Which  weightily  set  forth  his  services, 
How  he  has  been  a  lion  in  our  part 

To  put  down  smugglers,  how  he  gave  the  alarm, 
Five  years  gone,  when  the  Indian  fleet  approached, 
Threatening  the  harbour. 

QUEEN 

And  for  this  you  spared  him? 
(KiNG  nods.) 

QUEEN 

What  services  can  outweigh  his  injustice? 
0  my  dear  lord,  if  he  had  asked  a  guerdon 

[158] 


The  Queen  of  China 


For  these  his  deeds  and  you  had  granted  it, 

When  he  proceeded:     Give  me  leave  to  pill 

And  rob  the  king's  poor  subjects,  you'd  have  answered 

What  would  you  have  said,  my  lord?     0  it  is  shame 

That  thus  the  poor  can  sweat  and  suffer  still, 

Even  when  the  ruler  is  so  wise  a  man 

And  my  heart  sickens  when  I  think  of  all 

The  scattered  kingdoms  of  the  unhappy  earth 

Where  cruel  men  and  careless  boys  are  crowned. 

KING  (after  a  moment's  silence}. 
You  are  just 

And  in  the  heat  and  hurry  of  your  youth, 
You  follow  still  unswayed  the  difficult  path 
That  an  old  king's  feet  cannot  keep  for  long 
Without  your  guidance.     I  will  put  him  down, 
As  you  commanded  me.     I  am  ashamed. 
I  will  put  him  down;  there  shall  be  an  end  of  him. 
Yet  do  not  think  that  I  to  pleasure  you 
Do  justice  on  my  subjects.     You  have  shown  me 
How  glad  a  thing  is  justice  and  how  glad 
A  king's  heart  is  in  judging  righteously. 
I  would  not  that  the  good  deeds  of  your  hand 
Should  be  the  like  of  any  concubine's 
Boons  begged  at  midnight  in  the  shameful  bed. 

QUEEN 

They  will  not  say  so,  who  have  known  your  virtue. 
You  have  given  me  your  riches  and  your  love 
And  I  am  happy  in  the  much  I  have. 
It  is  enough  for  me  and  I  will  study 

[159] 


The  Queen  of  China 


How  to  repay  you  with  the  scanty  gifts 
That  are  my  own  indeed.     I  will  not  steal 
Any  least  shred  of  your  benevolent  deeds 
To  deck  my  queenship  with. 

KING 

But  all  is  yours 

And  I  am  yours  and  you  are  grown  my  life, 
A  new  blood  beating  in  my  ancient  pulse. 
For  there  are  voices  speaking  in  young  blood, 
Which  an  old  heart  no  longer  hears.     They  tell 
Of  truth  and  justice  and  brave  work  to  do. 
I  do  remember  when  they  were  my  own; 
It  is  long  since.  .  .  . 

(He  stands  musing.) 

I  bring  you  here  a  gift, 
Strange  and  of  value  to  the  curious  mind, 
Two  travellers  from  the  unimagined  West, 
Who  were  my  guests  once  and  who  loved  me  well, 
Which  love  has  brought  them  hither  once  again 
A  perilous  journey  through  the  springless  waste. 
They  were  my  friends  and  they  are  very  wise, 
They  have  large  learning  and  a  store  of  tales 
Fit  to  delight  a  queen. 

QUEEN 

It  shall  be  joy 
Enough  to  welcome  them  if  they  have  loved  you. 

KING  (going  to  the  door). 
They  rest  their  bodies  on  a  green  soft  bank 
And  breathe  in  quietly  the  excellent  air. 

[160] 


The  Queen  of  China 


What  peace  and  knowledge  rest  within  their  eyes! 
The  calm  sweet  memory  of  a  coloured  life 
Shines  in  the  stirless  lids.     0  they  are  happy, 
Who  are  not  weary  save  with  labour  done 
And  toil  accomplished.     So  may  I  rest  some  day 
But  the  end  approaches  and  the  goal  not  yet. 
Come,  friends.     The  queen  invites  you;  you  may  come. 
(The  TRAVELLERS  enter.} 

IST  TRAVELLER 

The  love  and  reverence  we  bore  the  king 
Is  now  not  halved  but  doubled  for  your  sake. 
Take  then  our  love,  0  lady,  and  our  prayers 
That  China  still  may  prosper  in  your  rule. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

We  are  two  travellers,  whose  way  has  been 
Cast  in  the  deserts  where  no  beauty  is. 
Now  a  strange  gladness  falls  upon  our  hearts 
Merely  to  see  you. 

QUEEN 

You  have  loved  my  lord 
And  I  accept  your  love.     Halve  it  or  double, 
The  whole  shall  go  to  him;  I  could  not  stay 
So  good  a  gift  from  him.     Rise,  travellers, 
For  I  am  hungry  for  the  tales  you  know. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

0,  we  have  come  a  long  and  weary  way, 
Past  all  your  fancy,  lower  than  your  dreams, 
Through  many  dangers  but  most  tedious 

[161] 


The  Queen  of  China 


For  you  to  hear  of.     Will  a  list  set  out 
Of  all  the  deserts  we  have  suffered  in 
Take  and  rejoice  your  ears  with  entertainment, 
Gobi  and  Shamo  and  the  salten  waste 
Beyond  Bokhara  and  the  lonely  marshes 
That  lie  beside  the  desolate  Caspian? 
We  went  on  weary  feet,  bestrode  strange  beasts, 
Were  passengers  in  foul  and  evil  ships 
And  we  are  here.     We  stayed  with  many  kings, 
Splendid  or  barbarous,  smooth-tongued  or  rough; 
In  hovels  and  in  palaces  alike 
We  lay  awake  all  night  in  sweating  fear 
To  feel  the  treacherous  blade  that  severs  throats 
Of  innocent  sleeping  men  and  no  word  said. 
Once  in  Stamboul  we  saw  a  lady  die, 
A  lovely  lady  who  had  done  no  hurt, 
Trussed  in  a  sacking  like  a  market-beast 
And  flung  to  drown,  when  dawn  with  splendour  gilt 
The  bitter  choking  waters  of  her  death, 
Because  she  loved.     And  once  in  Samarcand, 
The  fabled  town,  we  saw  a  beggar  throned, 
Who  set  the  crown  upon  his  greasy  head 
And  gave  the  law  out  in  a  villain's  voice 
To  silken  lords,  who  stooped  and  kissed  his  foot, 
And  in  Thibeth  we  saw  the  monasteries, 
Where  the  Grand  Lama  rules  his  drowsy  monks, 
Who  waste  the  day  with  turning  of  a  wheel, 
That  serves  instead  of  grace  and  gracious  deeds. 
How  ticklish  and  alive  is  memory! 
Stir  but  the  brain  and  the  pot  boils  and  bubbles 
And  steams  out  pictures  of  the  endless  road, 

[162] 


The  Queen  of  China 


How  here  we  went  a  day  through  lofty  tops 
By  tracks  and  mountain-paths  that  scare  the  sense 
And  over  smooth,  unfriendly  fields  of  ice 
And  jutting  shelves  and  cornices  of  snow 
That  trembled  as  we  trod,  the  while  the  wind 
Curling  round  graven  buttresses  of  rock 
Played  like  an  icy  lightning  in  the  air 
And  froze  our  purposes;  and  how  we  came 
Heavily  at  the  end  of  the  afternoon 
Over  long  slopes  of  short  and  bitten  grass 
On  to  the  shoulder  of  a  blowing  hill 
And  saw  the  dreaming  country  spread  beneath 
Under  the  faint  mist  and  the  falling  sun 
Wrapt  in  a  magic  peace.     There  we  have  stood 
And  let  our  burdens  drop  and  breathed  again 
The  wreathing  sweetness  of  the  valley  air 
That  rises  warmly  from  frequented  fields 
To  cheer  the  naked  hills.     0  we  have  stood 
Silent  and  felt  a  singing  in  our  hearts 
To  see  how  patient,  careful  man  has  made 
A  garden  of  his  earth. 
Here  we  went  sweating  up  a  narrow,  stony 
Root-cumbered  lane  between  low-arching  trees 
In  crushing  darkness  that  could  not  conceal 
The  steepness  of  the  wooded  mountain-side 
And  there  we  halted  in  a  shallow  glade, 
Whose  marshy  middle  the  blue  gentian  decked, 
And  slept  uneasily  and  woke  at  dawn 
With  fever  fretting  softly  at  our  bones. 
These  are  the  ornaments  of  voyagers, 
This  hand  a  camel  crushed  in  Turkestan, 

[163] 


The  Queen  of  China 


This  limping  heel  a  Tartar's  arrow  struck, 

This  bended  back  with  ague  hath  been  doubled 

All  a  long  night  amid  the  Volga's  reeds ; 

But  these  mine  eyes  are  bright  for  having  seen 

Death  and  escape,  murder  and  treachery 

And  sunrise  in  the  mists  of  the  high  hills. 

0  in  the  wide  waste  world  there's  much  to  see 
For  those  who'll  buy  with  danger! 
Wonders  lie  thick  as  in  a  raree-show 

And  the  showman  is  old  Death.     But  we  have  seen, 

Between  the  wide  and  the  shuttered  gates  of  day 

And  in  the  long,  slow  hours  of  perilous  night, 

Twixt  Tuscany  where  too  the  cherry  blows 

And  your  bright  country,  no  town  made  for  rest, 

No  vale  that  tempted  us  to  lie  in  it, 

Though  dusty  were  our  heads  and  torn  our  feet 

With  the  long  journey. 

KING 

So  his  epic's  done 
But  briefly,  though  the  end  of  it  be  good. 

QUEEN 

Old  travellers,  you  are  most  fortunate, 
You  have  purchased  wonders  wisely.  .  .  . 

1  would  see  other  lands  and  learn  how  there 
The  spring  arises,  how  the  blossoms  grow 
Mantling  in  beauty  round  the  standing  trees, 
And  burn  away  at  last  at  summer's  touch, 
Leaving  the  naked  fruit  behind.     I'd  learn 

If  all  men  there  are  happy,  ploughing,  sowing 

[164] 


The  Queen  of  China 


Or  working  stoopt  among  the  golden  ears 
Or  taking  the  sweet  apples  from  the  boughs 
And  laying  them  by  rows  in  country  lofts 
Or  striding  through  the  keen  winds  of  the  sea. 
I  have  a  great  wish  to  go  far  today: 
My  body  moves  and  turns  within  my  silks, 
Restlessness  and  I  know  not  what  of  fear 
Devour  me. 

KING 

The  sap  mounting  in  the  trees 
Draws  your  blood  with  it,  for  your  blood's  like  sap, 
That  goes  to  feed  the  topmost  flowering  bough. 

QUEEN 

There  is  something  in  me  stirring  like  the  sap, 
A  new  sharp  ache,  a  pain  I  would  not  lose. 
0  if  I  were  a  man,  I'd  take  a  horse 
And  ride  all  night  with  stars  to  be  my  guide 
And  echo  for  a  groom  to  follow  after. 
I'd  ride  all  night  until  the  mountains  stood 
Patient  beneath  the  flying  hooves,  and  on, 
Along  the  causeway  through  the  low,  rich  lands, 
High  built  and  sure,  beneath  a  young  May  moon 
Hung  in  the  heavens,  like  a  new-born  moth, 
That  only  now  unfolds  her  velvet  wings, 
And  ride  still  on  and  reach  the  palace  gates, 
Weary  and  sated  and  prepared  for  rest, 
When  peasants  go  out  yawning  to  their  fields. 
What  is  this  racing  madly  in  my  veins? 
My  eyes  hurt  me,  my  breasts  hurt  me  and  my  hands 
For  thought  of  all  the  loveliness  I  see. 

[165] 


The  Queen  of  China 


IST  TRAVELLER 
It  is  the  spring,  dear  queen. 

2ND  TRAVELLER  (unheard}. 

Perhaps  —  the  spring! 

QUEEN 

Call  me  my  groom,  my  lord,  and  bid  him  saddle 
My  too  long  stabled  horse.     Ah,  he  and  I 
Alike  have  suffered  in  captivity 
Where  generous  spirits  turn  to  acid  sour. 
Will  you  call  him,  my  lord,  will  you  allow  me 
To  ride  abroad  —  tonight  —  unguarded? 

KING 
Ah! 

What  would  you?     But  I  will  not  stay  your  wish 
Nor  linger  in  fulfilment. 

QUEEN 

Take  no  heed: 

I  am  foolish  and  the  empty  breath  of  folly 
Fades  in  intent  as  mist  on  winter  days 
Blown  from  the  mouth. 

KING 

What  would  you? 

QUEEN 

Nothing  now, 

Save  to  be  rested,  to  lose  count  of  time 
And  have  in  peace  dominion  of  my  senses. 

[166] 


The  Queen  of  China 


KING 

The  young  have  growing  pains,  which  we  forget, 
But  which  we'd  feel  again  were't  possible. 

(The   CHAMBERLAIN  enters  and  throws  himself  at  the 
KING'S  feet.) 

CHAMBERLAIN 

Supreme  Magnificence  of  Highest  Heaven! 
Your  son  — 

QUEEN 

The  prince  — 

KING 

My  son? 

CHAMBERLAIN 

My  lord,  he  lies 

These  eight  hours  in  a  still  and  deathly  swoon, 
Breathing,  not  sentient.     All  the  doctor's  art 
Avails  not  on  his  body  and  he  lies 
Under  the  yellow  hangings  of  his  bed 
With  pinched  and  bloodless  face.     His  creeping  pulse 
So  dimly  moves,  with  such  faint  finger  marks 
The  passage  of  his  life  that  scarce  the  blood 
Runs  through  his  slackened   limbs.     Three  doctors  watch 

him, 

Equally  bowed  with  science  and  many  years, 
Who  can  do  nothing.     Still  the  swoon  goes  on. 

QUEEN 
0! 

2ND  TRAVELLER  (unheard). 

Mark  the  queen! 
[167] 


The  Queen  of  China 


KING 

He  is  my  best-loved  son, 
And  losing  him  — 

IST  TRAVELLER 

My  lord,  we  saw  him  fall 
And  guessed  not  that  his  sickness  was  so  heavy 
We  were  even  speaking  with  him. 

QUEEN 

Go  to  him 

Quickly  and  take  these  learned  men  to  him. 
O  surely  in  the  desert  you  have  found 
Strange  herbs  and  charms  our  books  are  ignorant  of 
And  such  may  save  him. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

All  the  skill  we  have, 

All  drugs  that  now  do  fill  our  satchels,  shall 
With  our  good  will  attend  on  his  disease 
And  we'll  contrive  his  health. 

QUEEN 

Then  go,  my  lord, 

For  in  such  swoons  the  soul  irresolute  stands 
In  the  mouth  and  nostrils,  in  the  doors  and  portals 
Of  the  warm  comfortable  body,  loth 
To  leave  her  fashioned  home  yet  pressed  to  go, 
But  will  not  if  the  right  cure  be  but  found. 
Go  to  him  quickly. 

(The  Curtain  falls.) 
[168] 


THIRD  ACT 


THIRD  ACT 

•  -r 

SCENE  ONE 

The  PRINCE'S  chamber  with  dimly  burning  lamps.  The 
PRINCE  lies  motionless  in  a  bed  which  is  hung  with  yellow. 
Three  OLD  DOCTORS  stand  watching  him. 

IST  DOCTOR 

In  my  last  medicine,  in  my  final  charm, 
There  was  no  succour.    All  my  essences 
A  thousand  times  distilled  by  cunning  slaves 
And  filtered  and  refined  till  every  drop 
Burns  and  is  bright  with  the  residing  power, 
All  these  administered  have  no  effect 
Upon  his  magic  and  unnatural  sleep. 

2ND  DOCTOR 
Still  the  pulse  changes  not. 

SRD  DOCTOR 

When  you  can  feel  it, 
It  beats  at  the  same  slow  unveering  rate, 
Such  speed  as  scarce  will  keep  a  snake  alive, 
The  slowest  breathing  of  all  blooded  things. 

2ND  DOCTOR 

Should  we  try  toads'  lungs  boiled  with  cinnamon 
And  made  into  a  plaster  for  the  breast? 

[171] 


The  Queen  of  China 


When  I  was  young  and  daily  sought  the  schools, 
Quick  rumour  said  a  mighty  doctor  there, 
One  of  my  masters,  saved  a  child  with  it, 
Who  lay  a  week  in  such  a  swoon  as  this, 
Though  he  denied  it. 

SRD  DOCTOR 

Ah,  my  amulet! 

It  should  have  saved  him,  if  I  had  it  now. 
It  came  to  me  from  old  Confucius'  time 
And  drove  the  strongest  evils  from  their  seat. 
A  patient  stole  it. 

IST  DOCTOR 

See  him  lying  there! 

Sweet  sir  ops  and  the  sticky  juice  of  fruits, 
Fine  juice  of  herbs  and  the  medicinal  earths, 
Gum  arabick  compounded  with  pomegranates, 
And  sifted  dust  of  powdered  chrysoprase, 
All  I  have  used  and  still  the  trance  unshaken 
Laughs  at  my  sweating  pains. 

SRD  DOCTOR 

It  is  a  devil, 

Which  with  burnt  paper  and  with  holy  words 
We  must  expel  from  him. 

2ND  DOCTOR 

It  is  a  worm, 

Which  lodges  in  a  passage  of  the  brain 
And  there  impedes  its  working. 

[172] 


The  Queen  of  China 


IST  DOCTOR 

None  of  these: 

If  it  had  been  disease  or  worm  or  devil, 
It  should  have  yielded  up  to  me  ere  this. 
It  is  no  sickness  I  was  taught  to  meet, 
My  masters  knew  not  of  it. 

SRD  DOCTOR 

Nor  mine  either. 

2ND  DOCTOR 

God  grant  it  may  not  be  the  plague  again 
Come  in  another  shape  and  deadlier 
As  it  is  wont  to  do. 

IST  DOCTOR 

The  plague! 

SRD  DOCTOR 

The  plague! 

IST  DOCTOR 

Put  not  this  shape  of  evil  in  our  eyes 
Which  now  must  float  between  the  light  and  us 
And  haunt  us.     If  this  thing  be  true  indeed, 
We  three  are  doomed  to  die  a  dreadful  death, 
With  swelling  in  our  loins  and  sweating  blood 
And  swollen  tongues  that  stop  the  dying  speech. 
When  I  was  young,  long  ere  you  two  were  born, 
I  saw  the  plague  come  down  on  us.     It  rose 
Out  of  the  northward  desert,  where  no  man  is 

[173] 


The  Queen  of  China 


And  smote  our  borders.     Then  the  people  lay 
Groaning  in  heaps  beside  their  stinking  houses; 
For  when  a  woman  perished  in  a  house 
Her  husband  would  not  come  to  bury  her 
But  stayed  upon  the  threshold  and  there  died. 
Sons  brought  not  water  to  their  sinking  fathers; 
In  the  ungarnished  house  of  government 
Rotted  unhelped  the  tainted  mandarins. 
All,  all!  it  seemed  —  my  father  and  my  mother! 
And  there,  a  child,  I  straitly  vowed  my  life 
To  healing  and  the  tending  of  men's  bodies; 
All  labour  spent  in  vain,  for  now  a  cause 
Arises  needing  my  most  delicate  skill 
And  finds  me  wanting.     0  I  am  ashamed! 

2ND  DOCTOR 

No  man  continues  long  in  this  ill  posture; 
If  the  prince  wake  not  now,  he  dies. 

SRD  DOCTOR 
And  we? 

IST  DOCTOR 
I  fear  the  old  king  in  his  grief. 

2ND  DOCTOR 
And  I 

Fear  for  the  king.     Have  you  not  noticed  him, 
How  he  is  changed,  how  all  his  looks  and  customs 
Are  dangerously  altered  from  their  wont? 
I  have  distinguished  in  him  many  signs 

[174]    ' 


The  Queen  of  China 


Of  ominous  reading.     In  his  age  he  lives 

As  though  his  body  were  grown  young  again 

And  his  dry  veins  were  flushed  with  youthful  blood 

To  wash  out  the  old  channels,  long  disused, 

Of  vehemence  and  royal  energy. 

Our  honoured  scientists  have  set  it  down, 

Living  a  long  time  closeted  with  books, 

In  solitude  to  water  budding  thought, 

How  these  things  token  dangerous  maladies 

And  slow  diseases  that  assail  the  brain. 

He  grows  as  mad  as  those  that  waste  in  prison, 

Tearing  the  straw  behind  the  pitiless  bars, 

And  did  no  sceptre  nor  no  royal  robes 

Assure  him  from  their  fate,  he'd  lie  with  them. 

IST  DOCTOR 

The  queen  has  touched  the  springs  of  youth  in  him, 
Renewed  his  wasting  sinews,  made  more  supple 
His  hardening  arteries 

And  breathed  a  new  and  an  amazing  strength 
Into  his  nostrils  and  his  panting  lungs. 

2ND  DOCTOR 

She  is  a  woman  visibly  unsound, 
Whose  passion  for  defending  of  the  weak 
And  febrile  love  of  colours  and  bright  flowers 
Proclaim  her  tainted  and  degenerate. 
The  prince  himself,  who  lies  there  hardly  breathing, 
Is  plainly  epileptic,  and  his  case, 
Though  past  the  bounds  of  any  practical  skill, 
Is  not  beyond  the  grasp  of  theory. 

[175] 


The  Queen  of  China 


We  doctors  know  by  reading  of  much  print 
What  flaws  and  faults  to  find  in  royal  houses. 

SRD  DOCTOR 
Softly!     The  king  comes  and  a  train  with  him. 

:•;;-# 

2ND  DOCTOR 

Stand  round  the  prince  and  take  his  pulse  again. 
(The  DOCTORS  go  to  the  bedside  and  the  IST  DOCTOR  takes 

the    PRINCE'S    wrist.    The    KING    enters,    followed    by    the 

TRAVELLERS  and  the  CHAMBERLAIN.) 

IST  DOCTOR  (solemnly). 
His  blood  goes  slowly  as  a  hill-fed  river 
In  deepest  winter  when  no  snow  doth  melt. 

KING 

Put  up  your  drugs,  put  up  your  instruments, 
O  men  of  little  worth!     Is  it  for  this 
The  state  has  taught  you  and  has  nourished  you 
So  many  years  till  your  long  beards  are  grey? 

IST  DOCTOR  (bowing). 
Slay  us,  0  mighty  monarch,  but  delay 
Our  death  a  little,  for  these  foreigners 
Will  surely  heal  the  prince  and  we'd  observe 
The  unsuspected  cure.     Why,  it  is  true 
That  we  are  men  of  base  and  little  worth; 
But  grant  us  this,  the  last  request  we  make, 
For  we  are  famished  even  now  for  knowledge. 
Grant  it,  great  lord;  we  would  learn  one  thing  more 
Before  we  die. 

[176] 


The  Queen  of  China 


2ND  DOCTOR  (bowing). 

There  is  no  end  to  learning 
And  even  in  the  doorway  of  the  grave, 
A  man  may  turn  his  head  to  read  one  line 
Before  departing. 

SRD  DOCTOR  (bowing). 

Let  us  not  go  down 

To  ignorant  death  and  lie  unlearned  corpses. 
For  surely  still  our  curious  ghosts  would  walk, 
With  pens  and  tablets  in  their  shadowy  hands, 
To  learn  this  one  thing  more. 

KING 

Be  silent,  men 

Of  vanity  and  flatulent,  swollen  science, 
Who  but  to  hear  is  to  abhor.     Begone! 

2ND  DOCTOR  (secretly). 
Thank  God  for  it. 

IST  DOCTOR 

We  will  depart,  my  lord. 
(The  three  DOCTORS  bow  deeply  and  go  out.) 

KING 
Go  to  him,  friends.     My  only  hope's  in  you. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

I  have  looked  at  him,  tested  his  pulse  and  heart, 
Lifted  his  lids  and  looked  upon  his  eyes, 
And  hearkened  his  scant  breath  but  there's  no  salve 

[177] 


The  Queen  of  China 


That  ever  I  have  heard  of  would  revive  him. 
This  is  a  sickness  that  is  strange  to  me 
And  I've  seen  many  men  die  many  deaths, 
Scurvy  and  leprosy  and  the  damp  ague 
That  breaks  the  bones  with  its  strong  shivering. 
But  this  is  none  of  these. 

KING 

He  is  alive, 

They  tell  me,  though  his  sleep  resembles  death. 
Is  there  no  man  can  help  him  and  help  me? 
The  new-born  power,  so  gracious  in  my  hands, 
Runs  through  my  ringers  now  like  falling  water 
And  I  am  helpless.     Why,  a  king  can  kill 
With  any  sort  of  death,  but  when  he  stands 
At  the  sad  bedside  of  his  dying  son, 
He  is  as  powerless  as  another  man. 

CHAMBERLAIN 

0  woe,  woe,  woe  on  China!     Now  is  all 
The  fabric  of  the  high-arched  kingdom  gone 
And  the  fair  provinces,  the  Mountain  Province, 
The  Province  of  the  Plain,  the  River  Province, 
The  Border  Countries  and  the  teeming  port 
And  cities  where  the  wise  old  Viceroys  rule, 
Shaking  their  honoured  governmental  heads, 
All  these  are  wounded.     O  he  is  a  prince 
That  is  a  paragon  of  youthful  virtues 
And  is  fulfilled  of  unexampled  good! 

[178] 


The  Queen  of  China 


KING 

Had  I  not  kingly  state  and  governance, 
I'd  rave  as  he  does. 

CHAMBERLAIN 

Is  there  nought  indeed? 
Can  you  not  save  him? 

IST  TRAVELLER 

He's  in  the  hands  of  God. 
And  hangs  suspended  by  a  viewless  chain 
High  out  of  our  perception. 

CHAMBERLAIN 

I've  a  plan, 
If  but  the  king  will  hear  me. 

KING 
Speak,  old  servant. 

CHAMBERLAIN 

With  these  poor  doctors  we've  not  used  up  yet 
The  treasures  of  the  wisdom  of  the  realm. 
In  a  corner  of  the  royal  library, 
Hidden  by  books  heaped  like  a  monument, 
Sits  an  old  sage,  old  beyond  reckoning, 
To  whom  I  am  a  child.     He  studies  there 
And  studied  there  when  you  and  I  were  young, 
Distilling  all  the  toil  of  his  long  life, 
All  honey  gathered  from  his  dusty  flowers, 
To  make  one  page  in  the  great  dictionary. 

[179] 


The  Queen  of  China 


Who  knows  what  he  has  found  in  such  a  time, 
Strange  remedies  in  unaccustomed  script 
And  charms  by  us  forgotten? 

KING 

Seek  him  out: 

This  is  a  spider's  thread  of  slender  hope 
And  yet  no  worse  than  nothing.     Seek  him  out. 

CHAMBERLAIN 
I  go,  0  majesty. 

(He  goes  out.) 

IST  TRAVELLER 

Take  courage,  sir; 
Still  the  prince  lives. 

KING 

He  lives  still,  yes,  I  know, 
And  set  some  hope  thereon.     But  is  it  life, 
In  which  the  blood  forgets  its  usual  custom 
And  slides  as  slowly  as  a  glacier, 
Which  once  ran  rapid  as  a  hill-side  stream? 
His  veins  are  new  and  fresh,  he  is  a  youth, 
Whose  body  is  a  playground  for  the  blood 
To  run  and  leap  in.     Were  it  in  my  veins 
That  this  sad  stoppage  held  its  dreadful  sway, 
I  could  not  marvel  but  I  marvel  now 
And  weeping  in  wondering. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

0  we  weep  with  you, 

Tears  of  suspense,  my  lord,  but  not  of  loss, 

[180] 


The  Queen  of  China 


For  nothing  is  yet  lost  while  he's  alive. 
And  this  old  sage,  whose  coming  we  attend, 
May  have  recovered  something  from  the  waste 
Of  hungry  years, 

As  we  have  found  bright  gold  in  desert  sands. 
And  if  he  aid  not,  there  is  nature  yet, 
Always  our  last  hope  in  the  deepest  ills. 

KING 

Here  in  my  land  we  put  no  trust  in  her, 
Save  when  our  learned  men  have  wrestled  with  her 
And  got  good  gifts  by  force. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

The  Chamberlain 

Comes  hasting  back  and  brings  with  him  a  man, 
As  old  as  China. 
(The  CHAMBERLAIN  comes  in,  followed  by  an  OLD  SCHOLAR.) 

CHAMBERLAIN  (to  the  KING). 

Pardon,  lord;  his  wisdom 

Hath  clogged  his  brain  and  made  him  mannerless. 
Be  merciful  to  his  old  rusted  wits, 
Whereon  the  dust  of  many  books  hath  settled, 
And  hear  him  out  in  patience. 

KING 

Let  him  speak. 

OLD  SCHOLAR 

I  knew  your  grandfather  and  you  are  like  him 
But  he  was  taller  and  less  pouched  at  the  eyes 

[181] 


The  Queen  of  China 


And  had  a  nobler  carriage  of  the  head. 
Where  is  he  now? 

KING 

He  is  a  long  time  dead 
My  father  too  is  dead  and  I  am  king. 

OLD  SCHOLAR 

What!  dead  so  young?     O  it  is  pity,  pity! 
And  boys  must  rule  the  state  with  their  rash  hearts 
And  hands  by  age  unpractised.     We,  the  old, 
Love  not  this  quick  and  youthful  governance, 
Knowing  how  years  bring  wisdom. 

CHAMBERLAIN 

There's  the  Prince, 

Lying  there  ghastly  on  the  yellow  bed. 
See  to  him  quickly,  if  speed  be  in  your  limbs, 
And  use  what  wisdom  the  long  years  have  given. 
(The  OLD  SCHOLAR  goes  to  the  PRINCE  and  examines  him, 
while  a  deep  silence  fills  the  room.) 

OLD  SCHOLAR 

He  is  well  and  strong  but  in  a  powerful  trance 
And  so  may  live  while  all  of  us  decay. 
Your  grandson's  grandsons  may  discover  him, 
When  we  are  all  forgotten,  sleeping  still, 
Unchanged  and  uncorrupted. 

KING 

Thus  to  live! 

Must  China  then  be  ruled  by  a  sleeping  king? 

[182] 


The  Queen  of  China 


Better  that  he  should  die,  for  while  he  lives 
No  other  of  my  sons  may  mount  the  throne. 
I  swore  it  in  the  temple  five  years  gone, 
Feasting  my  birthday  with  the  Ancestors; 
They  heard  and  noted  down  my  pious  vow, 
Nodding  their  wise  and  ghostly  heads  for  sanction. 
That  was  the  oath  I  swore.     May  I  ...  should  I  . 
Take  in  my  hands  the  crime  and  on  my  head 
The  guilt  —  the  guilt  —  the  guilt  — 

OLD  SCHOLAR 

Be  quiet,  man. 

You  dam  the  flow  of  wisdom  and  bar  up 
With  your  intemperate,  youthful  vehemence, 
My  loaded  words.     This  illness  came  on  him 
By  human  causing.     Neither  drug  nor  blow 
Assailed  the  prince  nor  any  dark  disease. 
He  is  wounded,  though  ye  see  no  welling  blood 
Nor  any  open  gash.     The  wound  lies  deep 
Upon  the  delicate  fabric  of  the  soul 
And  stops  his  being  up.     But  there's  a  cure: 
Search  out  the  spirit  that  thus  has  wrought  on  his. 
The  soul  alone  which  did  this  can  undo. 

KING 

But  who's  the  man?     Who'd  wish  to  harm  my  son 
Or  hurt  him  with  a  spell,  a  sword-blade  forged 
Of  whispered  words  and  dark  imaginings? 
He  is  not  hated;  even  in  his  sickness, 
His  words  were  courteous  and  his  looks  were  kind. 
Who  is  the  murderer? 

[183] 


The  Queen  of  China 


OLD  SCHOLAR 

No  murder  this! 

Full  well  I  know  how  mind  can  shatter  mind 
With  airy  weight  and  blows.     You  walk  your  ways, 
Slaying  in  blindest  ignorance  with  a  thought 
And  maiming  with  desires.     0  foolish  men! 
Who  are  most  like  to  children  armed  with  daggers 
Or  playing  with  huge  poisons.     Learn  of  my  wisdom, 
Poor  wisdom!  that  still  makes  a  crutch  for  fools 
And  may  not  walk  alone.     I  bid  you  now 
Seek  out  the  prince's  servants  and  his  friends, 
All  that  are  daily  round  him,  all  that  touch 
His  life  materially  with  passing  hands 
Or  with  the  frailest  woven  web  of  thought. 
Then  let  them  walk  beside  him  as  he  lies 
And  touch  him,  each  one  gently  on  the  brow ; 
The  right  man's  touch  will  call  him  back  to  life. 
Let  what  I  bid  be  done.     Farewell! 

(He  goes  out.) 

CHAMBERLAIN 

He  is  gone! 

KING 

Let  what  he  bids  be  done.     It  is  a  chance 
Built  up  too  high  and  slender  in  the  fancy 
To  bear  the  weight  of  any  useful  hope, 
Yet  we  will  try  it. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

Call  the  prince's  servants! 
[184] 


The  Queen  of  China 


KING 

Stay! 

CHAMBERLAIN 

Ah,  my  lord  — 

KING 

I  faint,  my  will  gives  way, 
I  cannot  see  it.     0  put  off  the  test. 
Hope  grows,  a  wretched  seedling  in  my  heart, 
With  pale  and  sapless  leaves  and  drooping  stem; 
Let  me  a  moment  nourish  it.     Let  me  — 

2ND  TRAVELLER 
Hold  him,  he  shakes  — 

IST  TRAVELLER 

Your  hand  behind  his  shoulders, 
So!  — 

KING 

I  am  better.     Look  not  thus  with  fear 
On  age's  and  on  grief's  infirmity. 
Give  me  a  moment.     I  can  breathe  again. 
0,  how  it  caught  my  heart. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

We'll  lead  you  hence 
Into  your  own  apartments  and  with  you 
Await  the  outcome  of  the  trial. 

[185] 


The  Queen  of  China 


KING 

No! 

I  will  not  go  so  far,  I'll  stay  with  him 
And  sooner  learn  if  there  be  any  hope. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 
Wait  till  the  morning's  light. 

KING 

I  could  not  sleep 

And  could  not  watch  all  night  and  nothing  done. 
Give  me  a  moment.     I  am  better  now. 
The  thing  shall  now  be  done. 

CHAMBERLAIN 

We'll  draw  the  curtain 

That  shuts  the  alcove  off.     You  shall  not  see 
The  long  procession  going  by  and  by 
Or  watch  with  sick  hope  and  o'erstrained  heart 
Each  hand  raised  up  to  touch  him. 

(He  draws  a  curtain  hiding  the  bed.} 

I  will  go 

And  set  the  train  in  motion.     As  the  first 
Go  by  his  bed,  I'll  marshal  up  the  rest 
And  send  swift  messengers  about  the  city 
To  fetch  his  noble  friends. 

(He  goes  out.} 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

We'll  not  despair, 

While  anything  is  doing.     Sit,  my  lord; 
Shall  we  with  coloured  travellers'  tales  beguile  you? 

[186] 


The  Queen  of  China 


KING 

Today  I  have  been  happy  as  a  youth 
For  all  the  toils  of  kingship  had  grown  light 
And  turned  to  toys  which  I  manipulated 
With  easy  fingers.     Now  here  is  a  woe 
Beyond  the  great  new  wisdom  I  have  learnt. 
It  passes  me:  I  am  too  old  a  man. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

But  not  so  old  as  I  nor  yet  so  worn 
With  dangers. 

KING 

Surely  that  step  was  the  first! 
There  goes  another  and  another  now. 

(The  CHAMBERLAIN  comes  in.) 

CHAMBERLAIN 

I  have  set  the  court  in  motion  now  and  all 
Pass  in  an  anxious  stream  beside  the  bed 
For  any  commoner  may  have  the  touch 
Of  curing  sickness,  formerly  reserved 
For  kings  alone. 

KING 

Stay  with  us  now,  old  friend. 
I  need  all  my  old  friends  now. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

We  are  here. 

KING 
I'll  not  forget  it. 

[187] 


The  Queen  of  China 


CHAMBERLAIN  (after  a  pause). 

Still   the  train  goes  on, 

Guards,  waiting-maids,  the  servants  of  the  bath, 
Gardeners,  grooms  and  all  the  varletry 
That  fills  the  court. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

But  still  as  it  goes  on 

Hope  lingers.     Till  the  last  poor  slave  has  been 
We'll  not  despair  of  him. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

Still  they  go  on 
And  still  I  hear  the  sound  of  those  to  come. 

(The  Curtain  falls.) 

SCENE  Two 

The  same,  not  long  before  the  dawn,  with  the  curtain  still 
hiding  the  PRINCE'S  bed.  The  KING,  the  two  TRAVELLERS  and 
the  CHAMBERLAIN  sit  round  a  small  brazier,  in  which  charcoal 
is  burning. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

How  all  night  long  my  flesh  has  crawled  to  hear 
The  shuffling  and  the  laughter  going  by, 
The  steady  tramp  of  the  insensate  feet 
Of  the  poor  slaves,  who  came  to  try  their  touch 
And  in  mechanical  procession  tread 
Our  last  and  fading  hopes  to  dust. 

How  they  have  laughed  and  nudged  and  clasped  at  hands 

[188] 


The  Queen  of  China 


And  pulled  at  garments  and  gone  breathless  by, 
The  idiots,  to  whom  anything  that's  strange 
Makes  an  occasion  for  a  holiday. 
What  cookmaid  was  it  that  went  by  just  now, 
With  greasy  clothes  and  breath  of  very  kitchen 
And  harsh  loud  piercing  whisper,  out  of  sight? 
Was  she  the  last  to  go? 

IST  TRAVELLER 

The  last  has  gone 
Two  hours  back  in  the  dead  and  depth  of  night. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

Two  hours  gone!  but  a  sound  —  just  here  —  just  now 
Under  my  head,  in  the  very  gate  of  my  ear, 
That  hath  stood  strained  all  night  — 
The  last  wave  of  that  hideous  flowing  tide 
That  beat  in  loud  succession  on  the  shore, 
What  was  the  sound,  friend,  tell  me  — 

IST  TRAVELLER 

You  have  slept 

More  than  two  hours  and  we  have  watched  alone, 
The  Chamberlain  and  I,  in  misery, 
Warming  our  hands  above  this  charcoal  fire, 
Stretching  our  palms  out  to  the  flameless  glow, 
Of  use  and  custom,  not  for  comfort's  sake. 
Awake  and  share  our  vigil;  we  have  dreamt 
The  long  night  through  with  still  unclosing  eyes, 
While  the  dark  skies  encompassed  us  around 
With  walls  of  blackness  that  closed  in  on  us 

[189] 


The  Queen  of  China 


And  choked  our  breath.     We  dreamt  in  solitude 
Of  endless  evil  striking  like  a  sword 
Upon  the  land  of  fertile  happiness, 
Of  sickness  eating  like  a  minute  worm, 
The  fruit's  sweet  centre. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

Is  the  king  asleep? 

CHAMBERLAIN 

His  eyes  are  closed,  his  head  has  fallen  back, 
His  hands  rest  still  upon  the  chair's  curved  arms, 
His  body  lies  relaxed  —  he  is  asleep. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

Hush,  hush!     He  does  not  sleep,  but  his  great  age 
Makes  nature  kindly  to  his  brain.     He  lies 
Wrapt  in  a  stupor  of  the  o'erwrought  soul, 
Which  now  is  drugged  from  pain  by  pain  itself. 
Thus  sorrow  floods  out  sorrow  and  the  evil 
Defeats  its  own  damned  armies. 

KING 

It  is  gone, 
That  weary  caravan  of  dwindling  hope. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

The  night  is  not  yet  gone  and  you  are  weary. 
Lay  back  your  head  upon  the  pillow  there 
And  sleep  awhile. 

[190] 


The  Queen  of  China 


KING 

O,  I  am  fain  of  sleep. 
(He  lies  back  again  and  sleeps.) 

2ND  TRAVELLER 
What's  to  be  done  now? 

IST  TRAVELLER 

Let  the  dead  king  sleep, 
Beside  his  son  that  is  alive  in  death, 
For  there  is  nothing  left.     All  stratagems, 
Devices  and  procurings  of  the  wise 
Are  shown  as  empty  and  as  useless  things, 
As  dances  of  the  desert  dervish-doctors, 
Who  mock  the  sick  with  leaps  and  attitudes, 
Which  we  have  mocked  at.     There  is  nothing  left, 
Save  to  expect  the  coming  of  the  day 
And  ruin  with  it. 

CHAMBERLAIN 

Still  the  day  comes  on; 

The  fountain  now  stands  out  all  silvery  clear, 
That  through  the  sad  hours  beat  upon  my  brain 
With  dull  recurrence  of  its  falling  drops. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

Did  you  not  say  the  land  slept  on  unchanged? 

[191] 


The  Queen  of  China 


CHAMBERLAIN 

All  was  the  same  —  and  still  the  country  sleeps 
In  comfort  unawakened  till  this  day, 
Which  I  prevent  not,  which  I  will  not  flee, 
Which  shall  enwrap  us  with  its  dawning  fear, 
As  we  sit  still  and  wait  on  its  approach. 
But  what  shall  be  thereafter  well  I  know 
And  what  the  evils  falling  on  the  state. 
In  a  few  years  this  country  shall  decay, 
Our  joyous  houses  and  our  porcelain  towers 
Shall  be  thrown  down  and  all  the  garden-walks 
Be  choked  with  darnel  and  the  hungry  thistle 
And  barren  weeds  that  turn  the  land  to  waste. 
The  enemy  shall  cast  us  down  and  rise 
In  hideous  triumph  on  our  fallen  bodies: 
The  capital  shall  be  deserted,  yea, 

The  planks  of  the  thronged  wharves  shall  warp  and  start, 
Strange  river-snails  crawl  over  them,  the  worms 
That  in  the  river's  bottom  have  their  home 
Shall  eat  with  puny  teeth  the  seasoned  baulks 
And  bring  the  whole  to  ruin.     The  canals, 
Placid  and  level,  only  now  disturbed 
By  passage  of  our  wealthy  merchandise, 
Shall  be  stopped  up  with  growth  of  water -weed 
And  spread  their  sluggish  floods  among  the  crops. 
The  royal  roads  shall  pit  and  rut  and  break 
With  softening  rain  and  the  disrupting  frost. 
Yea,  even  the  goldfish  in  the  garden-court 
Shall  weep  this  day, 

For  when  our  city's  fired,  there  bowl  will  crack 
And  leave  them  to  be  choked  in  bitter  air. 

[192] 


The  Queen  of  China 


2ND  TRAVELLER 

Must  all  the  people  slumber  with  the  prince 
Nor  wake  at  any  call  to  know  these  wrongs? 

CHAMBERLAIN 
You  know  not  how  we  are  ringed  with  enemies. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

Soften  your  voices.     Leave  the  king  to  sleep, 
Till  the  full  sun  is  risen  on  the  earth. 
There  is  miraculous  healing  in  the  light 
For  broken  spirits,  there's  no  cordial 
For  grief  that  can  be  likened  to  the  sun, 
No  cloak  beneath  which  sorrow  festers  more 
Than  darkness  and  there  is  no  poison  known, 
That  worse  can  rankle  in  the  spiritual  wound, 
Than  this  grey  merciless  light  of  early  dawn. 

CHAMBERLAIN 

The  king  sleeps  well.     Would  that  I  too  could  sleep 
And  find  forgetfulness  of  misery. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

But  he  is  sicker  than  his  helpless  son. 
See  how  the  bright  eyes  through  the  wearing  lid 
Shine  out  with  fever,  how  his  wasting  hands 
Grow  thinner,  whiter.     He  is  close  to  death. 
0  fetch  the  doctors  for  him! 

CHAMBERLAIN 

They  have  fled, 

Fearing  his  wrath  most  foolishly. 

[193] 


The  Queen  of  China 


2ND  TRAVELLER 

Alas! 

For  the  wise  men  whose  wisdom  fails  them  now. 
How  are  we  better? 

IST  TRAVELLER 

Soft!  the  king  awakes! 

KING 

I  have  slept  long  and  still  mine  eyes  are  heavy; 
You  should  have  waked  me,  I  have  slept  too  long. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

You  have  slept  ten  minutes,  sire.     Lie  down  again 
For  you  are  weary  and  in  need  of  rest 
And  we  will  wake  you  at  a  better  time. 

KING 

I  have  slept  too  long  already.     Now  I  know 
Why  I  am  weary.     Is  the  last  one  gone? 

CHAMBERLAIN 
The  last  has  gone  and  left  no  hope  behind. 

KING 
And  my  son  sleeps  yet?     Has  not  once  he  stirred? 

IST  TRAVELLER 

His  breathing  has  not  altered  through  the  night, 
Not  even  in  the  dim  and  dreadful  hour, 
When  the  waking  are  most  sad  and  the  sick  oft  die. 

[194] 


The  Queen  of  China 


KING 

Send  for  that  ancient  man  again.     I'll  ask  him 
If  he  has  used  up  all  his  armoury 
Of  quaint  extravagant  devices  now. 
Strange  that  we  do  expect  beneath  the  veil 
Of  rustic  mannerlessness  in  learned  men 
A  more  than  common  wisdom. 

IST  TRAVELLER 

Let  him  sleep,  sire, 

And  you  too  sleep.     There  is  no  profit  now 
In  waking. 

KING 

I  will  see  him,  I  will  ask  him 
What  he  can  do  —  whether  he —    Send  for  him! 

fi£!  i    . 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

Let  it  all  rest,  my  lord,  I  do  implore  you, 
Till  there's  warm  light  to  see  by. 

KING  (as  if  dazed  or  in  a  dream). 

Send  for  him! 
I  am  told  to  ask  you  for  him. 

(The  IST  TRAVELLER  makes  a  sign  that  the  KING  is  to  be 
obeyed.) 

CHAMBERLAIN 

I  will  bring  him. 

He  rises  early  and  is  with  his  books 
By  the  first  light.     I'll  bring  him  to  you  soon. 
(He  goes  out.) 
[195] 


The  Queen  of  China 


IST  TRAVELLER 

Give  me  your  hands,  sir.     They  are  cold  and  I 
Will  warm  them  twixt  my  palms. 

KING 

I  am  all  cold 

And  neither  sunshine  nor  the  bright  coal-fire 
Nor  human  blood  can  warm  my  limbs  again, 
For  the  chill  spreads  outward,  moving  from  the  heart. 
(The  CHAMBERLAIN  comes  in,  followed  by  the  OLD  SCHOLAR.) 

KING  (listlessly). 

Are  you  so  old  that  you  have  done  with  sleep, 
To  be  thus  early  playing  with  your  books? 

OLD  SCHOLAR 
Why  have  you  sent  for  me? 

KING 

You  have  cured  my  son, 

Have  you  not  cured  him?  Go  and  look  at  him, 
How  the  sweet  sleep  of  health  doth  wrap  him  up 
And  soothe  his  body. 

IST  TRAVELLER  (secretly). 

This  is  too  much  pain 

And  we  are  tightened  even  to  cracking  point. 
(Aloud.)     Observe  your  patient,  old  and  learned  doctor, 
On  whom  your  fine  device  has  fallen  as  light 
As  snow  on  water.     Stay  among  your  pens! 
You  have  held  us  all  a  night  with  foolish  hopes 
And  cloaked  our  brains  in  fancy  till  the  dawn 

[196] 


The  Queen  of  China 


With  cold  and  pitiless  finger  pointed  at  us 
For  fools  in  the  light's  eyes  and  in  our  own. 

OLD  SCHOLAR 
Is  the  Prince  dead? 

IST  TRAVELLER 

He  sleeps  and  sleeps  and  sleeps 
Untouched  by  your  contrivings. 

OLD  SCHOLAR 

This  is  strange! 

I  am  amazed.  My  science  is  not  vain: 
I  have  not  duped  myself  with  lying  arts 
And  transient,  to  gather  empty  praise. 

KING 

The  King  dismisses  you;  stay  here  no  longer. 
I  might  have  racked  you  but  I  have  no  will 
To  add  to  the  world's  sum  of  pain. 

OLD  SCHOLAR 

Softly,  my  friend;  I  am  no  charlatan. 
Have  you  observed  with  order  what  I  bade  you? 
Have  all  passed  by  him  and  laid  hands  on  him? 

CHAMBERLAIN 

All  have  gone  by  and  played  the  sorry  part. 
The  slaves  infect  the  chamber  with  their  breath 
Of  kitchens  hot  and  the  rank  stable-smells 
To  no  avail. 

[197] 


The  Queen  of  China 


OLD  SCHOLAR 

Have  all  his  friends  gone  by? 

IST  TRAVELLER 

Even  we,  we  four,  when  waiting  grew  too  long, 
To  break  the  night,  made  spaces  in  the  file 
And  touched  his  head  ourselves  and  left  him  sleeping. 

OLD  SCHOLAR 
Have  all  the  women  passed? 

2ND  TRAVELLER  (sharply  but  secretly') . 
Unlucky  word ! 

IST  TRAVELLER 

The  youngest  slave  that  crouches  at  the  spit 
Has  touched  the  Prince. 

OLD  SCHOLAR 

Has  the  Queen  been  here? 
(There  is  a  dead  silence.) 

KING 
Who  speaks  of  the  Queen? 

CHAMBERLAIN 

He  said,  sire  — 

KING 

What,  the  Queen? 
Last  farcical  and  pitiful  invention 
To  play  his  mummery  out  with.     Idle  sir, 

[198] 


The  Queen  of  China 


Will  you  pursue  your  drollery  to  the  end? 
Have  you  no  drug,  no  novel  incantation 
To  play  a  change  with? 

OLD  SCHOLAR 

I  have  said  my  word. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 
Dismiss  this  fool,  sire. 

KING 

Shall  we  play  it  out? 

There's  all  the  morning  to  be  travelled  through 
And  nought  to  do  in  it.     We'll  fetch  the  Queen 
If  this  impostor  will  be  satisfied. 
She  lies  in  the  pavilion  by  the  lake 
And  does  not  rise  until  the  day's  more  up. 
(He  goes  to  the  window.) 

2ND  TRAVELLER  (to  the  CHAMBERLAIN)  . 
You  guessed!     You  too! 

CHAMBERLAIN  (to  the  2ND  TRAVELLER). 

I  would  not  think  of  it, 
But  now  it's  on  us. 

2ND  TRAVELLER 

What  shall  we  do  now? 

CHAMBERLAIN 

Blow  blindly  on  like  gnats  before  a  storm. 
There's  nothing  else. 

[199] 


The  Queen  of  China 


KING 

See,  still  the  light  is  yellow  in  her  windows, 
A  sallow  radiance  against  the  dawn, 
That  tells  of  guttering  candles.     Go  to  her. 

(The  CHAMBERLAIN  bows  and  goes  out.) 

2ND  TRAVELLER  (secretly). 

Old  man,  you  cannot  guess  what  you  have  said! 
Unsay  your  foolish  word  and  bring  him  back, 
Else  equally  our  happiness  is  lost 
And  China  ruined.     O,  a  hate  begun 
Between  a  king  and  his  succeeding  heir 
Hath  more  of  evil  in  it  than  the  plague 
That  feeds  on  life. 

OLD  SCHOLAR 

My  science  is  not  vain, 
As  you  have  vainly  said.     Let  hate  begin 
And  wreck  the  land  and  pull  the  people  down! 
I  have  seen  five  kings  on  whom  the  kingdom  hung 
By  a  parting  thread  and  still  we  live  in  peace. 
What  is  your  kingdom?  what  your  government? 
I  see  you  from  my  height  of  ancient  knowledge 
Like  ants  acrawl,  as  busy  and  as  vain. 
Men  without  learning  are  even  as  the  ants, 
Who  heap  a  mighty  commonwealth  of  dust, 
Bridging  great  rivers,  tunnelling  great  hills 
And  cutting  down  enormous  blades  of  grass. 
They  are  purposeless  and  leave  no  mark  behind. 

[200] 


The  Queen  of  China 


IST  TRAVELLER 

The  Queen  is  coming,  sir,  and  still  she  wears 
The  silks  of  yesterday. 

2ND  TRAVELLER  (secretly). 

True-founded  fears! 
Now  for  the  storm. 

(The  QUEEN  and  the  CHAMBERLAIN  come  in.) 

QUEEN 

My  lord,  what  must  I  do? 
Long  waking  has  so  worn  my  heavy  eyes, 
That  in  this  ghostly  and  uncertain  light 
I  scarce  can  see. 

KING 

0  you  must  touch  him,  lady. 
Learning  this  most  fantastic  cure  devises 
And  learning  is  our  master.     This  old  man 
Conceives  my  son  to  bear  a  mental  wound, 
Which  nothing  but  a  magic  touch  may  heal 
And  that  touch  in  the  wounding  hand  resides. 
Since  by  light  chance  you  may  have  wounded  him  — 
So  learning's  logic  goes  —  do  me  this  service: 
Go  in  and  touch  him. 

QUEEN 

Is  it  nothing  more 

But  only  this?     My  hands  are  yours  alone, 
Should  you  desire  them  severed  at  the  wrists. 
Lead  me  on,  chamberlain,  where  I  must  go. 

(The  CHAMBERLAIN  leads  her  behind  the  curtain.) 
[201] 


The  Queen  of  China 


OLD  SCHOLAR 

The  Prince  himself  shall  tell  me  he  is  cured; 
Send  him  to  me  for  I  have  much  to  do. 

(He  goes  out.) 

IST  TRAVELLER 

Now  bends  she  above  him,  as  a  branch  of  blossoms 
At  sweet  compulsion  bends,  in  a  lovely  curve. 
(There  is  a  dead  silence.) 

PRINCE  (behind  the  curtain). 

Pull  down  those  flowers  that  brush  upon  my  face 
And  make  a  garland  of  them  for  my  head; 
The  gods  are  kindly  to  the  garlanded 
And  love  not  them  that  walk  with  undecked  brow. 

IST  TRAVELLER 
He  wakes!     He  speaks!     What  — 

KING 

Draw  the  curtain  back! 

(The  2ND  TRAVELLER  throws  back  the  curtain.  The 
PRINCE  is  seen,  half  sitting  up,  drawing  the  QUEEN  uncer- 
tainly towards  him,  as  though  still  in  a  dream.) 

PRINCE 

Have  I  been  sleeping?     All  night  long  I  dreamed 
That  flowers  drooped  on  me  and  your  face  among  them. 
I  feel  so  light,  so  light,  my  heart  assuaged 
That  ached  and  smarted.     My  limbs  feel  so  free! 
Give  me  your  hands  again. 

[202] 


The  Queen  of  China 


KING 

My  son!     My  son! 

IST  TRAVELLER 

Take  her  away  from  him!     Ah,  this  is  madness! 
My  lord,  the  trance  hath  worked  upon  his  brain 
And  his  slow-moving  and  infected  blood 
Bears  along  poisonous  fancies  in  its  flow. 
My  lord,  it  is  the  sickness  still  that  sways. 

2ND  TRAVELLER  (muttering). 
You  know  it  is  not. 

KING 

Ah,  my  son!  my  son! 

QUEEN  (softly,  near  weeping). 
Unclasp  his  hands  and  give  him  cordial: 
The  quickening  liquor  shall  bring  back  his  wits. 
Unclasp  his  fingers,  chamberlain.     You  see 
How  tightly  they  have  closed  upon  my  gown 
So  that  I  cannot  get  away  from  him. 
I  have  done  my  part  now;  let  the  doctors  come, 
Who  shall  restore  him. 

PRINCE  (fully  awake). 

What  am  I  dreaming  now? 
What  am  I  clasping?     Is  it  you  indeed? 
And  is  all  ended  that  deep-scored  my  heart, 
A  hundred  harrow-points  in  every  day, 
That  caught  and  tore  the  tender  fibres  up, 

[203] 


The  Queen  of  China 


Each  time  I  saw  you?     Do  not  leave  me  now, 
I  am  hardly  cured,  hardly  aware  of  health, 
That  yet  is  entering  the  open  sluices 
And  filling  up  my  body. 

QUEEN  (struggling). 

Let  me  go! 
The  King  is  here. 

KING  (to  IST  TRAVELLER). 

Give  me  your  hand,  good  friend, 
And  help  me  from  the  place.     I'll  leave  them  here. 
There  is  another  room  not  far  from  this, 
Where  sometimes  in  the  morning  I  have  sat 
And  counted  breaking  buds  upon  the  limes. 
I  can  just  go  so  far.     I'll  lean  on  you. 

PRINCE 

0  love,  my  throat  and  utterance  are  choked  up, 
My  heart  rejects  its  business.     Speak  for  me 
And  tell  me  of  the  love  between  us  two, 
So  long  time  nourished  secretly. 

QUEEN   (weeping}. 
My  love! 
(She  goes  into  his  arms.) 

KING 

It  is  done.     They  see  no  more  of  us,  no  more. 
Our  place  is  not  within  the  bridal-chamber, 
Whence  ancient  men  and  foolish  are  shut  out. 
Take  me  hence,  friends. 

[204] 


The  Queen  of  China 


IST  TRAVELLER 

Sir,  you  must  speak  to  them 
And  cheer  them  ere  you  go,  lest  they  imagine 
Vain  shapes  of  royal  wrath  and  shameful  death, 
That  kings'  wives  know  of  and  their  paramours. 

KING 
0  this  is  hard  to  do.     My  son!     My  son! 

PRINCE 

Father,  are  you  too  here?     0,  I  am  joyful 
That  you  have  read  my  secret  and  confirmed 
By  this  last  seal  the  happiness  you  give  me. 
Is  she  not  fair?     I  am  struck  by  wonder  at  her 
And  cannot  speak. 

KING 

My  son,  I  give  you  her; 
Love  her  as  I  do  and  it  is  enough. 
My  queen,  a  last  time  you  shall  be  my  queen 
And  sit  beside  me  at  the  audience, 
Which,  many  years  after  that  I  am  dead, 
Again  you'll  grace  as  queen,  though  then  not  mine. 
Much  is  to  do  today.     The  audience 
Is  packed  with  business  of  a  weighty  sort, 
Your  marriage  first  and  then  the  declaration 
Of  war  against  the  Tartars,  which  shall  be 
The  last  act  of  my  reign.     Old  Chamberlain, 
Send  for  the  general,  who  counselled  me 
A  war  of  mighty  scope  and  purposes. 
Together  we  will  plan  it  and  together 

[205] 


The  Queen  of  China 


We'll  head  the  armies.     But  the  marriage  first! 
Good  luck's  with  us,  this  is  the  time  of  flowers 
And  flowers  shall  deck  the  bridal.     Lead,  my  queen; 
Your  prince  shall  follow. 

(He  takes  the  QUEEN  by  the  hand  and  conducts  her  to  the 
door.  She  goes  out,  while  he  remains  in  the  doorway.) 

KING 

For  the  old,  old  men, 

There's  nothing  and  the  young  are  heirs  of  all. 

0  it  is  bitter  for  an  ancient  man, 

Who  sees  the  years  dissolve  like  smoke  before  him 

And  nothing  through  them  but  the  unfriendly  grave, 

To  know  his  last  delight  deserts  his  side, 

His  last  fool's  hope  of  youthfulness  in  eld. 

Each  disappointment  that  we  know  in  youth 

Is  wrapped  up  by  the  tale  of  years  to  spend 

And  hurts  us  not,  but  now  the  years  peel  off 

And  naked  sorrow  stands  before  mine  eyes 

Without  a  hope  to  hide  her  ugliness. 

Come  with  me,  friends. 

(He  leads  out  the  TRAVELLERS  and  the  CHAMBERLAIN.  The 
PRINCE  sits  up  in  bed,  rubbing  his  eyes.  His  SERVANT  en- 
ters.) 

SERVANT 

The  bath  is  ready,  sir. 

The  waters,  wherein  pleasant  scents  do  swim, 

Await  your  body. 

PRINCE  (leaping  out  of  bed). 

I  am  coming  to  it. 

Set  out  my  robes,  that  there  be  no  delay : 

[206] 


The  Queen  of  China 


I  feel  already  what  short  time's  a  day. 

(They  go  out  in  different  directions  and  the  stage  is  left 
empty.     A  GIRL'S  VOICE  is  heard  singing  outside.) 

SONG 

The  spring  will  soon  be  over, 
The  withered  flowers  are  falling, 

The  crops  are  growing  higher 
And  harsh  the  cuckoo's  calling, 

But  when  the  spring  is  over, 

I  still  shall  have  my  lover. 

For  the  spring  is  but  a  season 

And  love  is  a  delight 
That  knows  not  age  nor  waning 

And  hath  an  endless  might, 
And  when  the  spring  is  over 
I  still  shall  have  my  lover. 

(The  Curtain  falls.) 


THE   END 


[207] 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

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